Little Wonders
by StarKatt427
Summary: A series of Edward/Winry oneshots taking place during the time between the failed Human Transmutation the Elric brothers attempt and Ed getting his license as a State Alchemist. - A tad bit OOC in places, or rather, their relationship is a bit mature for their age.
1. Grateful

**Disclaimer: I don't own the world of FullMetal Alchemist: Hiromu Arakawa is the creator.**

**A/N: And so begins my one-shots series... I'm not sure how well this will work, but I'm gonna try. This was the first one I wrote set in this time line, and I'm pretty proud of the way it turned out. Anyway, this series is pre Ed/Winry, but I'm going to make subtle hints at their feelings for one another. The first chapter is based in the first anime series, not Brotherhood (although most of my others will most likely be more second series based). Please let me know how you like the idea for a little series like this, and enjoy!**

***8/9/11* I don't know if anyone else has noticed this, but I accidentally intertwine the first FMA anime series with Brotherhood, and the way I do is by referring to The Portal of Truth (Brotherhood) often as The Gate. Also, as you know, Truth doesn't actually appear in the first series, but it is in this chapter of Little Wonders. Well, I'm not going to change the part where I put Truth in here, because I like the line I used; but from now on, I will be making sure to take better care of putting the right name with the right story. I've gone back and edited all my other finished ones where I misused the name already, and if anyone else ever notices a place that I forgot to edit, I'd really appreciate it if you let me know ;).**

**StarKatt427**

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><p><strong>Story One: Grateful<strong>

_…Because she always knows what he needs…_

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><p>Before Edward even woke up, he knew he was going to have a bad day.<p>

The nightmares were the first thing that tipped him off. He hadn't been having them as much lately, but every now and then, a glimmer of blinding black and purple lights and utter hell crept into the few precious hours of sleep he got. The nighttime horrors were always the same: his leg being torn away, the white hot pain and blood it had brought along with it; the feeling of being inside The Gate, the black, hand like tentacles clinging greedily to his body, the world's knowledge flowing directly into his mind without relent; Truth's scornful words, voice cold and inhuman, an unnatural grin spread widely across its face; that _thing _that had been brought to life, lying brokenly in a puddle of its own blood inside the transmutation circle, breathing labored and shallow, its hand outstretched.

His mother. Ed had seen that thing as it reached across the room to him, and even though he knew it had to have been his mother, he couldn't accept it. Not after what he'd sacrificed. Not after losing Alphonse.

Al's screams were what truly haunted him. He would see his little brother's body being ripped away, as if he was a doll being pulled apart by the seams, his terrified, tear-filled voice calling to Edward, his hand reaching. Just like the monster.

And Ed had been so close, so close to just grabbing hold of his little brother and pulling him back. But when he had reached, all he'd grasped was empty air, and then the next thing he'd known, Alphonse had disappeared and he was at The Gate.

Every time Edward closed his eyes and fell to the phantoms, he would see Alphonse, tears on his face as he screamed, always reaching, and when he'd wake, Ed would feel a mixture of horror and relief.

Because, even though Alphonse had been lost to The Gate, Ed had been able to pull his soul back, attaching it to a suit of armor and saving his life.

But Edward asked himself millions of times, the question always present in the back of his mind, did it really save Al, or just seclude him to a life of unfeeling, unsleeping metal?

When Ed finally jerked awake from visions of blood and vomit and pain and aloneness, Al's cries still ringing in his ears, he spent several minutes trying to calm his rapid breathing. He had long since stopped screaming himself into consciousness, his one good hand clawing at air and the blankets that covered him, calling out Al's name and whimpering for their mother. Now, it merely took a few minutes for him to catch his breath, to remember that Alphonse wasn't gone and that he wasn't alone. Sighing warily, Ed eyed the white ceiling as sweat cooled on his heated body, his heart beat finally beginning to return to its normal pace.

As he lay there, Edward became aware of the ache in his new arm and leg, the ones made of automail, crafted by Granny Pinako and Winry. The prosthetic limbs had been attached almost four months ago, and he was growing stronger with them every day, but that didn't mean there weren't days where the foreign appendages just plain out _hurt_. He sat up, grunting, and only then did he realize something else.

Alphonse wasn't there.

Wild panic immediately tried to set in, but Edward pushed it away, even as his heart lurched slightly. Al was probably just busy helping Pinako with something, or maybe Winry had convinced him to spend the morning with her outside, enjoying the breeze (though she knew Al couldn't feel it). But what really surprised Ed was the fact that this was the first morning his brother wasn't there when he woke, just as he'd been every morning since Alphonse had first carried him, half unconscious and covered with his own sticky blood, in through the Rockbells' door front.

Edward knew that since Al no longer had a real body, he didn't require things like sleep and food, and from what he'd come to understand, his little brother found it a comfort to stay beside him as he slept. For the longest time, when the nightmares were the worst, Edward would wake on the verge of sobbing, eyes wild and desperate as they'd searched for Al's hulking form. He had always found him, sitting right next to his bed, a large hand placed soothingly on his head. "I'm here," Alphonse would murmur, voice soft and so full with love, pain evident there at having to see Edward hurting so much. And every time, Ed would latch onto his brother's gauntlet, squeezing it tightly with his left hand until his breathing finally settled, the pain of losing Al and his limbs slowly fading away. Before falling back asleep, he would pull Alphonse's hand close to his face and nuzzle into it, and Al would gently rub his cheek until Ed finally fell back to sleep.

He hadn't needed that reassurance in almost a month though, and while he'd told Al before that he didn't need to worry about staying with him the entire night, his little brother had simply shaken his head and said, "This is where I need to be."

Secretly, Edward had been extremely relieved to hear his brother say that, and it meant more to him than Al would ever know.

Edward got out of bed and hissed, glaring down at his automail leg. If the pain had just bothered his stump and thigh, it wouldn't have been so bad, but it was going all the way up into his hip as well. His arm wasn't quite as pained, but Ed could feel the beginnings of the burning ache as it traveled closer to his neck. Careful as to not cause any further pain, Ed stretched, starting first with his back and shoulders and wincing at the sting that it caused his recovering shoulder, then slowly reaching his arms up, releasing any tension from them. He followed, even more delicately, by extending his legs.

Wobbly, he walked across the room and out the door, rubbing his eyes as pale gray light flowed in through one of the windows of the house. The usual sounds of breakfast were absent, and when Ed walked into the kitchen, he realized that Pinako wasn't there. There were no dirty dishes, so he knew he hadn't missed breakfast, and after he had walked back into the hall and glanced out of a window, he realized that it wasn't even quite daylight yet.

Scowling and now irritated, Ed cursed his nightmares for waking him up when it wasn't even actually daytime. It would still be another half hour before the sun was actually up, Pinako along with it, and Edward usually didn't rise until at least eight, the sounds of breakfast cooking waking him. Now, though, he couldn't fall back asleep; not only because he was wide awake, but from the worsening pain in his leg and arm.

Edward walked toward the front door, grumbling as he went, and cracked it open slightly. He shivered when the cool air hit his exposed skin, then looked out across the yard and neighboring areas, searching for any sign of Alphonse. When it was obvious he wasn't at least in the surrounding vicinity, Ed shut the door, a little more loudly than he'd hoped, and he cringed at the scraping of wood, followed by the loud clacking sound the metal made as it slid home into its latch.

Once the house was silent again, Ed listened for the accustomed clanking noise that Al now made when he moved, but hearing nothing, headed back toward the kitchen to sit down before his leg gave out. When he was finally sitting in one of the chairs, he pulled the pants leg of his shorts up and placed his hand against the heated flesh and icy metal that was his leg.

The area surrounding the automail port was scarred over, darker than the rest of his skin, and was now pulled tight. It was hot to the touch, feverish like it had been the first weeks after attachment, and when he placed his hand on the automail, it was a stark contrast; the metal was cold and hard and smooth.

Moving his hand from his leg, Edward reached over and grabbed onto his right shoulder, squeezing it tightly, trying to take the ache away from it. His head was beginning to hurt now, right along the back of his skull and above his eyes, and along with a headache he could have done without, Ed was still worried about where Alphonse was.

If Ed hadn't been so focused on the pain that was eating at his body, he would have heard the soft _pat pat_ of bare feet as they pattered down the worn steps of the house. It wasn't Pinako, who was never seen without some type of shoes on a day in her life, and it wasn't the clonking of Al's armor, so there was only one other person it could have been.

"Ed?"

Edward, whose eyes had been previously closed, now looked up to see a sleepy Winry, one of her hands rubbing over her eyes in a very childlike manner. Her bangs were sticking out over her forehead, her hair tousled from sleep, down instead of held back; Ed hadn't noticed when it had gotten so long. Her eyes looked heavy, like she was still half asleep, and when she yawned, it was wide enough so that Ed could faintly make out the black space in her mouth where a tooth would soon be coming in.

As he watched her, this little tomboy whom he'd grown up with, wrestled with, and had gone on countless adventures with over the hills of Resembool, he realized that even though she tried to act mature and grown up, she was still just as much a child as he was.

But _was _he even a child anymore? He decided not to think about that.

Sitting up a little straighter, he asked, voice taking on its usual derisive tone, "Who else would it be?"

Winry, whom he realized was still a bit too sleepy to take up a chance at arguing with him, slightly nodded her head. She walked through the archway and into the kitchen, heading for one of the cabinets that held the glasses and drinkware. Reaching up, she removed a small glass, then, as if remembering Edward was sitting there, asked, "Do you want some too?"

Ed nodded his response, then watched as she got another glass out and moved to the sink, turning the faucet on and filling one glass, then the other. When she was finished, she walked toward him, her extended hand holding his drink.

He took it without giving any sign of thanks, and since Winry didn't chide him about being nice, he figured she must _really_ be drowsy.

She pulled a chair out from under the table, then sat down beside him. Edward took a long swig of liquid, wiping the remaining off his top lip with his arm. It was nice, the way the water ran down his throat; if only it could make the rest of his body feel that way. Looking out the corner of his eye, Ed watched Winry as she swished the water in her glass back and forth, then as she lifted it to her lips and took a small sip.

They sat like that for a while, both drinking their water, neither talking; Edward had to admit it was nice, the silence, because Winry hardly ever stopped talking; but something felt off as well. She was never this quiet, even when she was trying to wake up.

Taking another sip, Winry asked, voice soft, "You okay?"

Of course, she would ask something like _that_. "M'fine," he murmured, looking anywhere but at her.

"Liar."

He growled and was about to retort with a nasty comment about her minding her own business, when he realized that she wasn't arguing or trying to ebb him on; she was just stating a fact, a fact she knew to be true.

Because he _wasn't_ fine; his automail was on fire, burning away at the skin and nerves. The water, which he had hoped would make his head feel better, had instead simply cleared the grogginess from his mind so that he could feel the pain full on. He felt clammy and hot, afraid he might collapse if he stood for too long, but this was how he always felt when the automail flared up.

Instead of responding the way Winry would expect, Edward asked instead, "Why are you awake?"

She didn't look at him, but he saw the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. "Just couldn't sleep." She finished her water, then looked over at him. "You too, huh?"

"I never said that," Ed replied, but his conviction wasn't in it; if he used too much energy and spoke too loudly, it hurt his head.

"Whatever," she said.

Edward crossed his arms, ignoring her as he looked out into the living room, eyes glued to the window as silver rays of light poured in. He patted his foot against the floor, shaking his leg up and down; his good leg, not the one that was aching. Even as he tried to ignore the hurting, a stab of sharp pain that went up into his thigh caused him to nearly whimper. Somehow, with Herculean effort, he managed to lock his teeth and was able to hold it back for the most part.

Winry was watching him, he could feel it, but he didn't look back at her; he simply frowned as he stared into the den without really seeing, trying to force the pain away. He wouldn't take any pain pills, he told himself. He didn't _need _them anymore. He'd only taken them during the first month, when the pain had nearly made him cry, but after his body began to accept the new limbs, he had refused them. It was weak to have to take them, even if they _did _make the pain go away; you were still aware of the burning ache when you took the pills, but it dulled your senses and nerves and made you more relaxed, able to sleep.

Even as Edward pretended Winry wasn't there, he could still feel her gaze on him, and he was about fed up with it. Hands balled into fists, he turned to her and said, voice scathing and hard, "What are you looking at?"

A tinge of guilt immediately filled him as her eyes widened, looking almost like he'd slapped her, but he didn't dwell on it; he was more focused on what she wanted and, more importantly, trying to find a way to get his nerves and muscles to relax.

Winry watched him, blue eyes extremely dark in the light but containing a strange little knowing gleam, and she sighed. Standing from her seat, she sat her glass on the table, then gently reached out and took Ed's as well. He watched her as she went back to the sink and filled him another glass, then returned and handed it back to him.

Confused and more annoyed with his pain than her, he asked, "What are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Winry left the kitchen.

Edward sat, thinking. _That's it? What the hell?_ But when he heard the sound of a cabinet opening, he listened carefully. He could hear Winry digging around, then the door squeaking quietly shut, and Winry's footsteps were suddenly coming from down the hall.

When she came back in, Winry had a small bottle in one hand, the cap already off, and two white pills cradled in her palm. She stopped in front of Edward, then reached down at took hold of his flesh hand, dropping the tablets from her hand to his.

"Winry, what are—"

"For the pain," she said, giving him a very serious look. "You honestly thought I wouldn't notice?"

"I had hoped," he muttered quietly, but Winry heard and sighed. "Look, I don't need them," he lied, wanting nothing more than to just swallow them down with the water. "The pain's not that bad."

She gave him a look that said she didn't believe a word he said.

"I don't need them," he said, voice dropping to an almost snarl.

"You're just too proud to take them," she said, her tone even and, surprisingly, not even holding a trace of anger. "Well, if you won't take them for yourself, take them for Al."

Ed felt his breathing catch as she said this, but before he ask what she meant, she was talking again.

"Do you think Al likes seeing you in pain? It hurts him; even though he can't feel physical pain, I know he still feels it somehow. You know it, too."

Edward looked away from her face to the pills, frowning at them. Of course, Alphonse could still feel pain; Ed knew that better than anyone. But did he have to take medicine to keep Al from hurting for him? "But they make he tired," he complained to her.

Winry sighed softly, and when Edward looked at her, a crooked little smile was on her face, something similar to understanding in her eyes. "These aren't the ones you took last time," she said. "They've got the same dosage that helps numb the pain, but they also keep it away longer, and you don't get as sleepy."

This sounded wonderfully temping to Edward, not being able to feel the spasms that were traveling up his thigh and shoulder, into his chest. Still, his pride held him back.

"Please?" Winry asked, voice sounding tired and concerned and, if Edward was correct, slightly scared and sad, her pale hand curling over his into a fist, the medicine against his palm and fingers.

And that did it, that one little word and the way she'd asked it.

"Okay." Pulling his hand back quickly, he popped the pills into his mouth, then took the water and swallowed half of it after them. He looked back up at her. "How long does it take?"

"About half an hour before you should start feeling real relief," she said, smiling down at him. She put the cap back on the container, then turned around and began heading for the door.

Winry nearly missed Edward's soft call of "Thanks" as she was leaving. Still, she had heard it, he noticed, and even though her back was to him, he could somehow tell she was smiling. Oddly, he felt a wave of satisfaction at having put that smile on her face.

"Next time, let me know when they're hurting you," she said without turning around, but Edward knew she realized just how much her act of compassion had meant to him.

And it _had _meant a lot to him, even if he didn't exactly realize _why _it meant so much.

He smiled softly to himself as she left.


	2. Promise

**The second story in the **Little Wonders** series, this one takes place not long after **"Grateful"** (maybe a month). I think it's cute. I guess this idea just came from me thinking about if Edward ever accidentally hurt Winry with his automail during recovery, and this is the result of my thinking. **

**StarKatt427**

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><p><strong>Story Two: Promise<strong>

_…Because he hates himself when he hurts her…_

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><p>The one thing Edward hated more than hearing Winry go on and on about automail was when she called him into her workroom for automail maintenance. She would do it ever so often, simply to check that everything was working correctly, all the gears and wires and bolts doing their job. And it didn't matter that Pinako always checked his new limbs before they began a session of therapy and rehab, because Winry always just <em>had <em>to be sure. She had a right to, he admitted reluctantly, because she had after all help with the construction of his leg, but had also created most of his right arm, by herself.

So, although there was almost nothing as boring and sometimes as painful if she got mad as letting Winry examine his automail, he always let her; sometimes she would simply tell him she was about to do maintenance and he would follow, and other times she would have to nearly beg to get him to relent, but every time, he followed her into the workshop, grumbling softly under his breath about crazy gear heads.

Today, he was sitting in the chair she always put him in, his right arm propped up. Winry had quickly glanced at his leg, running her fingers along it and, after tightening a bolt here and there, deemed it worthy; her grandmother never made serious slipups. Now she was working on his arm, in familiar territory. Edward watched her fingers as they curled around the handle of a wrench and she began to tighten one of the bolts; he could see the beginnings of a small callous on the edge of her palm, right where the tool always rubbed her skin; otherwise, her hands were soft looking and, he silently admitted, felt very nice. Her fingernails were short and bitten off, like his, only hers weren't as wide and were more narrow and feminine.

"Well," she began, pulling him from his examination of her hands and making him blush slightly, "everything outside looks good. What I'm worried about is the wires."

Edward cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because," Winry continued, placing her wrench on the worktable, "your hand seems kinda jerky."

It was true; Ed had noticed it a few days ago, the way his new steel hand seemed to be acting out. He had finally managed to control the strength he put into grabbing and touching objects, but it had come to him as a surprise when he'd grabbed one of Pinako's drinking glasses the other day and it had made a loud, cracking sound. Startled, he had set it down and noticed that where no marks or chips had previously been, three long, narrow cracks traveled from top to bottom, smaller fractures branching out from them.

The glass was still hidden in one of the high cabinets, one not reachable to Pinako, but it was only a matter of time before she got Alphonse to get her something out of there and his brother discovered it.

"You noticed, huh?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked indignantly, a somewhat serious look in her eyes; she was smirking though. "I made your arm after all."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Edward looked at her as she grinned, wiping an arm across her forehead; it left a small trail of grease, and if Edward hadn't been so annoyed about what was to come, he would have laughed. She wasn't in her usual gray-blue jumpsuit and her hair wasn't tied back in a bandanna; she had on olive green capris and a gray T-shirt, tan flip flops adorning her feet. Her hair was in it's usual ponytail, but her bangs were plastered to her forehead; watching her, Edward was suddenly grateful all he had on were blue boxers and a loose tank, because at least he was not as hot. Strands of hair were stuck to her face and he noticed the way her clothes clung to her sweaty skin, but she didn't complain; it was always hot in the workrooms during this time of year.

"Now, you ready?" she asked, already pulling a chair over beside his arm.

"Just hurry up," he muttered, to which she gave an aggravated _humph!_

Silently, she began examining the underside of his arm, where, once you unscrewed the bottom plate, a tangle of colorful wires was visible, each one connected to a certain nerve in his body. There were more, the ones deeply embedded in his arm, but Winry had told him right before beginning that she wasn't worried about them. She worked quietly, like always, not talking very much, engrossed in her work and paying hardly any attention to Ed other than his arm.

Which gave him the chance to watch her.

Unlike usual, instead of his mind wandering back to the alchemy books he had in his room and trying to find a way to get Al's body back, Edward's mind seemed to drift to the girl next to him. Winry was the same age as him, eleven, but was younger by a few months, something he'd horded over her when they were younger. For the most part, she was as tough as any boy, except when someone hurt her feelings and she would burst into tears and cry for what seemed like forever. Ed made fun of her for that, referring to her as a crybaby, which, he realized, she was finally beginning to grow out of. For some reason, that thought didn't please him as much as he'd thought it would; it meant Winry was growing up, right along with him and Al, parentless.

Her fingers were inside his arm now, the tips of them gently grasping the wires, testing them. Her eyebrows was furrowed slightly, like they always got when she worked with automail, and the tip of her tongue was curled out over the side of her mouth. Since the wires were connected to his nerves, Edward could feel her fingers as she touched each one, rolling one between her thumb and index finger, her fingers barely rubbing another; still, each time she did it, Ed's breathing caught for just a second.

It was weird, the way he couldn't feel anything because of the automail, but when it got to the inward work of it, his nerves could still sense and recognize Winry's touch.

Scowling at the thought, Edward looked away, forcing himself to recite the Periodic Table, the one thing that could get his mind off of almost anything.

He had just gotten to the element selenium when he felt a sharp shock travel from his upper right arm, down to his metal fingers, and then back. As the current surged back upward, Ed's arm shot out to the side, nearly smacking Winry in the head, and he was faintly aware that she cried out. He felt his wrist twitch, followed by his fingers, until finally his arm fell back onto the bench it had been previously propped on and stopped jerking. Eyes wide, Edward tried to curl the fingers of his automail hand in, and when they did, he immediately relaxed; they still worked. Next, he slowly lifted his arm, testing it out. It worked as well.

Still able to feel the aftershock traveling through his nerves, Edward's gaze jerked harshly to Winry, who was sitting wide eyed, her hands in her lap and her expression slightly nervous. Snarling, Ed leaned forward until he was just inches from her, then asked, voice unnaturally cold and fuming, "What did you do?"

"I-I found what was wrong," she replied, trying to smile and miserably failing. "It's the green wire, t-the one that connects to your wrist. It has a torn strand, and when I touched it—"

"Yeah," he said, standing from the chair, suddenly annoyed and angry with her, though he wasn't exactly sure why; it was an accident, one that wasn't even her fault. She couldn't have known the wire was torn until she looked at it. So why was he so mad at her? "Let me ask you this," he stated. "Did you know that's what was wrong?"

Winry looked down at her hands, expression slightly guilty. "I didn't know for sure, but I was wondering if that might have been it. Ed, I'm real sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."

He looked down at her, taking in her wide apologetic eyes, and realized that was it: because she _hadn't _done it on purpose, but she had pretty much known what was wrong and hadn't told him to be ready for what might happen.

Although a part of him wanted to forgive her, to let go of this stupid anger he shouldn't be feeling and to take that horribly contrite expression off her face, another part wanted nothing more than to hurt her feelings and to just make her cry. He wasn't sure why he felt this spite towards her; back when they were young, he would do anything and take on anyone to keep her from crying. Now, for some sick reason, he actually wanted to see the crystal tracks running down her still slightly rounded face.

"Forget it," he said instead, frowning down at her. "I should have just gotten Granny to check my arm. She's got years of experience. Not like _you_, I mean."

He had to admit he went a little over the top with that last statement. Winry's eyes widened even further, and, if he was correct, her bottom lip was beginning to tremble. Suddenly on the verge of apologizing, he balled his hands into fists and turned his back to her, then looked over his shoulder at her and scowled, eyes like hard, cold topaz. "Next time, try to actually _know _what you're doing, okay?"

He looked at her for a second more than necessary, unable to turn away at first. Her eyes were big and bright with emotion and slightly wet, her mouth hanging open in shock, hurt and betrayal written across her every feature. As he looked at her, Edward began to feel his anger slipping away, like it almost always did. Forcefully, he turned his eyes from her and began walking toward the door.

"Wait…Edward…" she mumbled after him softly, voice shaking, trying to call him back.

He didn't stop.

"Ed…Ed, wait!" Winry was up from her chair, trying to move after him, her hand reaching out to grab his shirt. Before she could though, her foot caught on one of the chair legs, and she was suddenly flying toward the floor.

Edward had listened to her as she called for him, then heard her when she'd gotten up. It surprised him when he heard the scraping of wood, followed by Winry's soft, startled cry, and when he turned around, it was just in time to see her falling through air. Without thinking, as if by instinct, his automail hand jerked out and latched onto her wrist, pulling her up rather roughly. Still, he had kept her from falling; although he was mad at her and annoyed with her stupid automail, he couldn't stand seeing her get hurt.

"For cryin' out loud, would you watch what you're doing, idiot?" he spat harshly, though his tone wasn't quite as rough as before; Edward prayed she couldn't hear the relief in it. "Next time, I'll just let you fall, how about—"

"Ah!"

Edward was instantly filled with alarm at Winry's cry of pain. He looked from her face, scrunched up in hurt, her eyes barely even open, to her hand, which was gripped at a horribly twisted angle in his steel one. He was mostly holding her wrist, but he had also latched onto the base of her hand, and because of the way he was holding it, it was squeezed inward, her thumb extended over her palm unnaturally.

With a painful little noise of his own, Edward let go of her hand, watching as Winry brought it to her chest, noting the way she seemed to try not to cradle it; she held it gingerly, and it was still at an odd angle. Winry looked down at her hand, eyes filled with real, physical pain and hurt and tears.

And at the sight, Edward felt every ounce of anger he'd felt toward her evanesce and was filled with shock and unreserved guilt.

"Winry, I…I didn't mean to…I…"

It made his breathing catch somewhere in his throat when she looked up at him, a pained smile on her face. Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, tears she refused to let fall, along with the pain and wounded appearance they still possessed. "It's fine," she said, trying to sound like her usual bubbly self. She failed; Edward heard her voice, thick with tears, crack, and it nearly broke his heart to see her like this. Had he _really _wanted to see her cry? Why would he want to see her hurt so badly that it made his heart ache?

"Winry, I'm—"

"No," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "It was m-my fault. Clumsy, right? I just wasn't careful enough. Sorry, for making you have to save me."

"I don't mind saving—!"

"And I'm r-really sorry about your arm," she continued, giving him a watery smile. "I didn't mean to, I just…just…go ask Granny to take a look at it. I'm sure she can fix it."

Edward hated himself. Not just for all that he'd done in the past, like causing Alphonse to lose his body and binding him to the suit of armor, but for what he'd said to her. He hadn't felt this much self loathing in a while. "Win…"

"Winry?" Pinako suddenly called from the kitchen. "I need your help."

Winry cleared her voice, yelling back, "Coming!" Her voice broke again, Edward noticed, wincing slightly. She looked back at him, giving him a very weak smile, then said, "Gotta go. Don't forget to let Granny look at your arm, okay?" before quickly walking past him, leaving enough space between them so they wouldn't accidentally touch.

"Winry, please, just listen." Desperate, Edward reached out, gabbing hold of her upper arm, this time with his flesh hand. His grip on her was loose, the opposite of how it had been moments ago, but it made no difference; Winry's body tensed as he touched her, like she was afraid he would hurt her again.

Again. He had actually hurt her with his hands.

Ed let go of her arm, his hand going down to the edge of his shirt, gripping it tightly; it reminded him of Al's nervous habit, but maybe it was something he'd inherited as well. "Ah, I'm…uh…"

Her shoulders relaxed, but she didn't turn around. "See you, Ed," Winry said, and with that, she was gone, leaving him alone in the workroom.

And, although the realization that he'd hurt her, that he'd actually hurt her for the first time in his life, was rolling around inside his brain and bouncing off the walls of his skull, another thought arose in his mind, one, under normal circumstances, he would never have allowed himself to think:

He liked the way her skin had felt against the palm of his hand.

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><p>For the rest of the day, Edward did everything possibly to avoid Winry. He spent most of the day outside with Al, the two sparring so that Ed could get back into shape. He worked his body beyond usual, sending all of his anger and guilt into his kicks and punches, but even when he had released all of his pent-up emotions, Alphonse still beat him every time. Exhausted and in pain from his recovering limbs, Ed finally ended up collapsing on his back in the grass, simply staring up at the sky with weary eyes.<p>

"Brother?" Al sat down beside him, not even winded from their sparring. Of course he wasn't breathing hard; his new body didn't have lungs. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Al made a soft, sighing sound. "No, you're not. What happened with Winry?"

Edward looked over and up at his younger, but not necessarily little, brother. "How'd you know?"

"Because I know you two and the way you act when you're avoiding each other."

A ghost of a smile graced Ed's face, then he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He could still see Winry's eyes, wide and pained, tearful; he could hear her cry out in pain; he could also, though he tried to force it away, feel the skin of her arm under his hand, the heat and softness of it, the muscles underneath her fair skin from working on automail. He opened his eyes, unable to look at Al. "I hurt her. Really bad."

"I guess that explains why her hand's wrapped up," Al murmured, more to himself than Ed.

Edward heard it though, and was suddenly sitting up, staring at Alphonse with bewildered eyes. "It is?" he asked, voice soft and horrified.

Al nodded sadly. "I talked to her earlier and asked what had happened, but she said she'd been working this morning and got her hand jammed in some equipment."

Edward barked out a harsh, self deprecating laugh. "Yeah, that equipment was me."

"Sorry, Brother."

"I don't deserve an apology," Edward said, standing up from the ground. "I don't deserve anything good, like you or Winry."

Ignoring his statement, Al asked, "What else did you do?"

Ed cringed slightly. "I said some really bad things."

"Oh." Al was standing now as well, towering over Edward. He was looking down, his face an expressionless mask, and Edward suddenly wished for the millionth time Alphonse had his real body. "I think that's what really hurt her. What you said, I mean."

"Huh?"

"You know Winry; she's kinda sensitive to words."

"Kinda?" Ed asked, but Al kept on as if he hadn't spoken.

"What I mean is that what you said probably hurt her more than how you physically hurt her. What happened?"

"My arm's messed up," Ed said, motioning to the automail, "and she tried to fix it. I got shocked and blew up at her; I don't even now why I did. But I was leaving and she tried to stop me and she tripped and I caught her by the hand, and well…"

"Got it," Al said in understanding.

Ed plopped back down on the ground, lifting his knees to his chest and resting his arms on them. "What do I need to do?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're good at this kind of stuff."

"Brother, just go apologize."

Edward laid his head down on his arms, squeezing his eyes shut. "I tried to right after it happened, but she wouldn't let me."

He heard the clanking of Al's armor, and when he looked up, his little brother had his massive hands placed on his metal hips. "She was probably still really upset and in pain. You should try again."

"How?" Edward asked, a hand going to his hair, grabbing the golden strands tightly.

Al made a sound in the back of this armor, where his throat was, and Edward could almost see him rolling his eyes. "Just talk to her, Brother."

Edward looked down at his knees, sighing at his brother's words. Easier said than done. "I'm the biggest jerk in the world."

"Yes, you are," Alphonse said, voice slightly teasing. "But you're also the most caring, even if no one knows it."

Ed smiled up crookedly at Al, lifting his hand and taking hold of his brother's gauntlet for just a moment. "Thanks, Al."

* * *

><p>The next two days were, as Edward decided, very stressful and filled with guilt. He stopped avoiding Winry the day after the accident, and she did the same, but things weren't like before. They rarely talked to one another and were hardly in the same room, even if they did pass by each other civilly. Winry would sometimes smile at him, though it never reached her eyes, and all Ed could do was look away from her, his chest hurting.<p>

What really made him feel bad was the wrap Winry wore around her hand those two days. It was cream colored and circled her wrist and part of her hand, stopping at her fingers. He would watch her when she wasn't looking, examining the way she held her hand; her fingers were always curled in on it and, from what he'd seen, she couldn't bend it at all. Luckily, it wasn't her right hand, so she could still do things like writing, but Ed soon realized that she couldn't work on any of her automail projects anymore or help Granny with customers.

One day, the day after he'd hurt her hand and her second night with the wrap on, he had walked by her workroom and watched her as she gently touched each tool with her good hand, her eyes sad and bored, and Ed had felt so ashamed that he'd practically run outside and had remained there for a good hour.

Now, two days after he'd hurt her, here he was, standing outside her bedroom door, his fist raised and ready to knock. Only problem: he couldn't. He wasn't ready to face her, to face this, the fact that he could actually hurt someone he cared for. He knew he'd hurt Alphonse worse than anyone, but this was Winry, and something about seeing her in pain was almost as bad.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on the door. "Winry?"

Silence. He knew she was in there though, so he didn't move, even though he felt terrified.

"Winry, c'mon, I need to talk to you."

Nothing.

Biting the inside of his lip, Edward sighed softly. "Please, Win. Just…please."

The door opened softly, Winry standing there, looking down at him; not because she was trying to be condescending, he realized, but because she was taller than him. She looked normal, like she always did, except that her hair wasn't in it's usual high ponytail, but in a low one, the hair band hanging loosely at the base of her neck. Her eyes weren't as bright as usual, colored instead a dull blue.

She raised her eyebrows inquiringly, waiting.

"Ah…hey," he muttered lamely.

"Hey," Winry replied in the same tone, leaning against her doorframe.

"I…can I talk to you?"

She nodded, then turned her back to him and went toward her bed, sitting down on it. Edward shut the door behind him, then walked forward and remained standing; he was scared she's hit him if he sat beside her, so he opted for standing in front of her.

Ed coughed slightly and was about to mumble a weak apology when Winry suddenly said, "It's okay."

Taken aback, Edward looked down at her, eyes absorbing the way she certainly didn't look okay. She looked tired and slightly pale, her eyes dim.

And Edward suddenly found himself speaking. "No it's not! I don't care what you say, I was an ass to you. Like always," he muttered quietly before continuing. "I was mad at you. I don't even know why I was mad, I just was, and I had no reason to be, because you didn't do anything but try and fix my arm. It's just…you're always right about that kind of stuff, and you pretty much knew what was wrong and didn't tell me, and I just…I just get tired of you always knowing everything."

"Because you like to know everything," she stated calmly.

Instead of denying it, he said, "Yeah. Exactly."

Edward could tell this surprised Winry, him accepting her words so easily, but he wasn't finished. "I like knowing everything, or thinking I do, because it makes me feel better. I feel safer that way, and I feel like if I know all that I can, I can take care of Al. But that's not an accuse, and I'm not trying to make one. I just know that you have every reason to hate me because I'm a jerk and I deserve it."

Once he was finished, Ed looked down at Winry, taking in her silence. Her expression was strange, a mixture of many feelings, but he could see anger there and was instantly ready to accept anything she threw at him.

Except a wrench.

The metal tool came out of nowhere, slamming into his left cheekbone with so much strength that it nearly tipped him over; somehow, he managed to pull himself up, his hand going to his cheek, holding it tightly. Normally, he would have screamed at her for doing that. Instead, for the first time, he took it like a man; after regaining his balance, he stood up straight and simply looked at her.

Winry was standing now, her arm still outstretched from swinging the tool/weapon. Her eyes were brighter than they had been in days, her breath coming in slight gasps, and a big grin was on her face.

Edward was shocked into silence.

"It's about time I get an apology like that, you jerk!" she said, almost laughing as she grinned down at him. "You've never said anything that nice to me."

Blushing furiously, Edward stuttered, "W-well, then don't ever except anything like it again!"

Winry did laugh this time, and Edward, though horribly embarrassed, felt himself relax slightly. "I won't," she said, "but it was really nice to hear it."

A shaky smile spread across Ed's face and he scratched the back of his head. "Well, I, ah…"

Winry giggled, then suddenly, her face sobered. Edward felt his nerves kick in at this and he watched her anxiously. "What?" he asked, voice almost a whine.

"You…didn't get Granny to fix your arm."

Edward looked over to his automail arm, at the large space where the plate should have been and at the wires that coiled around inside. He looked back to her, eyebrow raised slightly. "Yeah. So?"

"But…why?" she asked, large-eyed and confused.

Edward felt a small, soft smile spread across his face. "Because I don't want anyone working on my arm but you."

He watched her as realization set in; he saw it in her eyes, the way she held herself. Suddenly, to his dismay, large tears suddenly spilled over her eyes and she was crying.

"Hey, hey! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad, so stop crying, okay?"

She laughed through her tears as she reached her hands up to her eyes, the left still wrapped up tightly, and scrubbed the tears away. "Because," she said, voice watery and so happy it made Ed's heart nearly stop, "you said that."

Ed laughed softly, relieved, and he moved forward, placing his real hand on top of her head. "You're such a crybaby," he said affectionately, messing with her hair.

"I am not," she said, but she was smiling at him through her tears. Carefully, she lifted her left hand up and placed in on top of his.

Edward inhaled roughly at the contact, her smooth skin and the rough material of the bandage against his hand.

"What?" she asked, clearly confused.

He sighed, eyes sad, as he gently held onto her hand, moving it to where he held it in between them. It wasn't until then than Winry seemed to remember it was hurt; she tried to pull it back, to hide it, but Edward wouldn't let her. His fingers were already on the wrap, gently pulling at its edges.

"Ed, wait—"

"I just wanna see it," he said, stopping only to look at her eyes momentarily. "I want to see how badly I hurt you."

I was worse than he'd expected, and once the wrapping was completely discarded, a soft cry escaped his lips at the sight. Ed's fingers shook as he held her hand up gently by her lower arm, right above her bruised wrist. The skin along her wrist was dark purple and blue, the edges lightly tinged with the greenish color of recovery. Only part of her hand was bruised, large fingertips imprinted on the pale skin, and by the way she still held it, Edward knew the bones in her hand were sore.

Ed knew his eyes were wide as he took in the sight, but he just couldn't believe he had hurt her this badly. His hand, his automail, the limb she'd crafted for him, had done this to her because of his stupidity. Because he hadn't let her fix his arm, because he'd gotten mad at her.

He didn't realize his entire hand was shaking until Winry was holding it in her good hand, his fingers soft against his rough skin. "It's really not that bad," she stated truthfully. "It looks worse than it is."

"You promise?" he asked, voice breaking.

"Swear."

He nodded his head, still looking at her hand. "I'm so sorry, Winry."

"I know. And I forgive you. I'll always forgive you, because you never mean to."

Edward looked up at Winry, a real smile on her pretty face, just for him. _Pretty?_ Ed faintly wondered, but simply decided to enjoy this moment with her. Winry moved forward, throwing one arm around him loosely; she knew he didn't like it when she hugged him. Now, though, Edward welcomed the contact. Smiling, he wrapped his real arm around her as well, his hand landing on her back. She smiled at him, resting her head against his, sighing gently.

And Edward realized, right then and there, that he would never, ever, hurt this girl the way he had, not physically or emotionally. That was when he promised that, unless it was necessary, he wouldn't touch her with his automail hand. Ever.

Because he couldn't stand to see her hurt.

When they let each other go, Ed walked to her door and smiled his usual grin at her. And everything was normal again.

Except for one thing.

As Edward walked back toward his room, he felt himself wonder, for the hundredth time in the last three days, why he had wanted to see her cry. And when it finally came to him, he blushed so furiously that he didn't think his face would ever go back to its normal color.

Ed had wanted to see her cry because when she did, she looked so pretty it took his breath away.


	3. Faith

**Disclaimer: I don't own the world of FullMetal Alchemist: Hiromu Arakawa is the creator.  
><strong>

**A/N: Third installment! This one, so far, is probably my favorite, just because I think it's really cute and sweet; plus, I enjoy writing a pissed off Edward tremendously ;). Anyway, I suppose this could take place about two months after **"Promise"**. And now, I just want to take a tiny sec to thank everyone who's enjoying **Little Wonders** and for leaving comments (for all my stories as well). Thanks guys, you rock!**

**StarKatt427**

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><p><strong>Story Three: Faith<strong>

_...Because she believes in him even when he doesn't..._

* * *

><p>This was the third day he had tried.<p>

Edward's fingers divided his hair into three sections, then proceeded to try and wrap them around each other as he attempted to make a braid. He was just able to form three loops before his fingers slipped, like they always did, and the work he had finished unraveled.

Edward sighed harshly, angrily, growling darkly as he yanked his hands away from his hair and balled them into fists. Finally, _finally_, after months of letting his hair grow out and refusing to cut it, even with Pinako nagging him to, Ed's hair had finally achieved a length that hung down past his shoulders and, while no where near as long as Winry's tresses, his was now long enough to be tied back.

He didn't want it in a ponytail; he wanted it braided. The problem, though, was that he just _couldn't _braid it.

For what seemed like the thousandth time that afternoon, Edward brushed his fingers through his hair to rid it of the knots he kept producing and again sectioned off his hair as he tried to braid it. He had barely started before his automail fingers twitched (something that was lessening the longer he had the new limbs) and the hair slipped from his fingers.

"Dammit!" he yelled, pulling the hair tie from his teeth and throwing it across the yard. Why the hell was this so hard? When they were little, he'd seen Winry do it to her mother before, twisting Sara's lemon colored locks into an elegant braid, and sometimes even plaiting his mother's. It had been easier for Winry to braid his mom's because her hair had been longer than Winry's mother's, and while she would twist the hair, Trisha would sit there and smile contently, her eyes closed as she hummed softly.

If Winry could do it, so could he.

Ed quickly stood up from the ground and stomped over to where the ponytail had landed, then flopped back down onto the late summer grass, grumbling the whole time. Stretching out his legs, he sighed deeply, then began to try to braid his hair again.

It didn't end well; the parts kept slipping from Edward's fingers and flowing back into their original positions, leaving Ed growing hotter and hotter, his blood boiling at his own incompetence. It annoyed him beyond reason that he kept messing up, but what really pissed him off was that he _wasn't able _to actually get a good braid going. Along with his anger rose frustration and discourage, and though he pretended not to notice, his eyes were beginning to burn with unwanted moisture.

After his sixth mess up in this one particular spot, Edward let out a roaring yell that developed into a high pitched scream and slammed his automail fist into the grass, punching it over and over without relent. He knew he was acting childish and having a temper tantrum, but this was his third day at trying to braid his freakin hair, dammit! It shouldn't take this long!

"Brother! What's wrong?" Alphonse called, voice echoing inside his armor as he drew nearer, and Edward screamed again, hitting the ground with both fists until he felt his hands slide into raw soil.

Al, coming from the back of the house, came into view and froze about five yards from Edward. Although the helmet's face betrayed no emotion, Edward could see even through his fit of anger that his little brother was alarmed but knew to keep his distance. "Brother?" Alphonse asked softly, taking a few steps slowly forward. "Are…you okay?"

If it had been anyone but Al, Edward would have screamed at them to go away; instead, he tried to somewhat compose himself as he forced out, "Fine. Just…go away, okay?"

"Brother—"

"Please," Ed whispered, tone gentler this time, as he glared down at his grass stained, dirt covered hands, unable to bear the hurt in Alphonse's voice, the shame rejecting his little brother was inflicting upon him. "Please, Al."

Alphonse was horribly reluctant; he knew Edward wasn't hurt, but he was definitely upset about something, and Al had a feeling that since he wouldn't tell him, it was something to do with his big brother's pride. Sighing softly, Al nodded, then headed back around the house, knowing Edward would have to work out whatever was wrong without him but hating the very idea.

Edward, for his part, felt deep shame overwhelm him because he'd let his little brother see him like this. Biting his lip until he faintly tasted blood, he picked up the discarded hair tie once more and tried to start a new braid.

He sat there for several minutes, each time getting a little more hair braided, and each time his fingers would always slip and the hair would fall away and he'd start over again. Ed's bottom lip was caught under his top teeth and upper lip to keep it from trembling, but he couldn't get his fingers to stop shaking. He would get a little more done the more he practiced, but he never failed to mess up, and when a strand of hair finally got caught in the joints of his automail fingers, he cried out in pain. Dropping the ponytail, he pulled his hair around and tried to wrench it free from his artificial limb, ignoring the pain even as hair ripped from his head and the strands got tangled up all around the cogs and places between his knuckles.

"C'mon, you stupid…." Edward growled, wincing as he pulled harshly once more, only to be rewarded with an even greater hurt as a small section of hair separated from his scalp and his hand flew away, several strands of gold trapped inside the gears.

As soon as his hair was free, Edward's flesh hand was furiously rubbing his burning scalp, trying to take the pain away as he muttered, "It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt," under his breath.

"Ed?"

Edward looked over to see Winry standing a few feet away from him, a basket of apples she'd bought in town cradled in her arms. She was watching him quizzically, her head slightly cocked to the side, eyes wide and incredibly blue.

He frowned at her, eyes narrowed as his hand stopped moving for a moment. "What do you want?" he spat, hand resuming its job of massaging his head.

"I was just coming back to the house," she stated, voice slightly stunned. She looked at him, her eyes squinting. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine," he growled through clenched teeth, glaring severely at her. "Now will you leave me alone?"

"Geez, sorry," she murmured, turning away from him.

Edward felt bad for being so mean to her, he really did, but with all this crap about not being able to make a braid and the fact his head was still aching, he decided not to worry about her. He quickly grabbed the hair tie again and began the tedious process of trying to form a braid once more, moving more carefully and taking his time.

He was able to twist his hair five times before the locks slipped through his fingers. Snarling, a sound that was more a sob than growl, Ed drew his knees up, propping his arms on them and burying his face in his flesh arm. "Dammit, dammit, dammit… I _can _do this, dammit, I just gotta keep trying… I can, I just…" He sighed a broken sigh, keeping his eyelids shut tight against the saltwater that tried to leak out. "I _can't_."

Forcefully, Edward reached back to grab his hair, but was stopped by the feel of fingers already their. Soft, warm fingers trailed through his golden hair, gently brushing out any snarls and moving up to his scalp.

Turning back, he saw Winry kneeling down right behind him, a soft little knowing smile on her face. "W-what are you doing?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound firm, but failing miserably; he sounded very young and confused, his eyes large and somewhat covered by his long bangs.

"Helping," she said, "now turn around."

Muttering under his breath at her though he didn't mean a word of it, he crossed his arms and let her continue her work. He felt her fingers catch in a knot, untangle it, then continue to move throughout his hair. They traveled over his scalp, her nails gently scraping against it, and though he tried to stop it, a soft growl of enjoyment escaped his throat. Winry laughed, her fingers moving down to the little baby hairs near his neck, and she proceeded to play with them, fingers softly pulling and twining around the tresses. Against his will, Ed sighed, his eyes slipping shut.

As he stared into the blackness of his closed lids, Edward felt Winry suddenly begin twisting his hair, her fingers sure and quick, skilled. She made a few more interlaces, then pulled at the braid, making sure it was just right, not tight but not too loose either. Satisfied, she reached down, and her fingers were suddenly on his flesh ones, pulling the black hair tie from them, then quickly tying his braid.

Edward had been aware of her the whole time, but what he didn't want to admit was just how _much _he'd been conscious of her; he'd been able to feel her breathing on the back of his neck, her arms sometimes brushing his shoulders, and he'd liked it. He opened his eyes and lifted a hand to his braid, his left fingers gently brushing over Winry's handiwork: it was better than

anything he'd ever be able to do. Silently, and appreciatively, he turned to look at her.

Winry beamed brightly at him. "Is it okay?"

He nodded slowly, faintly smiling. "It's great. How long did it take you to…?"

"A few times to braid someone else's hair. It took me over a week to braid my own, I think."

"A week?" he whined.

She nodded solemnly. "Yup. But I didn't give up. And neither will you."

Edward was amazed at how much faith she had in him, but before she could really see just how much this meant to him, he looked away from her, throat suddenly tight and thick. "Thank you."

Winry placed a hand on his shoulder, gently leaning her head against his for a moment. "I know you can do it."

And then she was gone. Edward watched as she picked up the basket of apples, not once stopping as she headed back to the house. Still, he didn't miss the very pretty smile she gave him as she went by.

A new determination inside him, Edward felt his trademark grin fall into place, because he knew he could get this. He would be able to braid his hair because she said he could.


	4. Comfort

**Story Four! It's been a while, I know... two weeks. Anyway, here it is! Chronologically, this story takes place first in the series, right after Edward loses his arm and leg and Alphonse loses his body. I've had this one done for a while now, just haven't posted it, and for some reason, I decided to today (exactly two weeks since my last post on this project; I didn't know that until I checked the calendar, I promise!). This story has been in my head for a while, or the idea of it at least. It changed a lot from the time I imagined it to the time I finally typed it, and I'm very happy with the final version. **

**StarKatt427**

* * *

><p><strong>Story Four: Comfort<strong>

_...Because seeing him smile gives her hope..._

* * *

><p>Winry wasn't sure what had woken her. She opened her eyes blearily, caught in between being awake and asleep, trying to figure out if there had been a sound that had pulled her from slumber. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and staring into the darkness of her bedroom, listening and looking; maybe something had fallen from one of the shelves. As she groggily glanced over the floor, searching for a fallen book or a metal wrench that could have tumbled off the edge of her desk, she found herself wondering if maybe she'd just been dreaming, dreaming that something had fallen, and that was what had woken her. There seemed to be nothing out of place that she could see, the pale moonlight illuminating her room just enough so that she could make out the shapes of her furniture and possessions.<p>

A dream. It had to have been a dream. Winry sighed at herself softly and promptly flopped back down onto her back, the deep stillness of slumber already beginning to take hold of her consciousness.

Her eyes opened once again, more quickly than before, as a strange, almost tickling feeling brushed through her chest. It fluttered, the feeling beginning to settle into place, and she placed her hands over her heart instinctively. Her heartbeat was fine, normal. Still, the sensation was becoming a somewhat profound, rather heavy pressure that weighed down on her. It felt like she was being suffocated, but could still somehow breath. Winry took in several deep, even breaths, then a few shallower ones, testing her inhalation and exhalation. Normal.

Sitting up once again, hands shoved down beneath her shirt and pressed against the flat skin of her chest, a sense of familiarity swam over her. Déjà vu maybe? She slightly remembered once feeling this almost choking weight before, one that she realized seemed a lot like nervousness mixed with something else, an emotion she couldn't yet grasp.

Winry crawled out of her bed and walked toward her mirror, staring into the looking glass that reflected her entire figure. She looked paler than usual, but maybe that was just the darkness and moon glow creeping over her skin. Still, she couldn't miss the bruise like circles underneath her eyes, signaling her lack of sleep. How many days had it been since she'd actually had a full night's sleep? Two? Or did this now count as three? Lemon blonde hair sticking up in several directions and out of her loose ponytail, body swallowed up by the oversized sleeping shirt that her mother had once worn, Winry saw just how little she looked, like she was years younger. But then again, everyone looked younger when they slept and after they'd just woken up, especially Ed; his bangs would always stick to his face and he'd rub the sleep from his eyes, expression almost innocent, still lost in his dreams.

The pressure in her chest seemed to grow in heaviness and tightness, yanking her from her thoughts.

And that was when she remembered that she needed to go check on Edward.

So that's what the feeling had been; slight apprehension, but mostly just reminding her of her duties. Winry suddenly recalled the time she'd felt this before, not counting the last few nights as she'd taken care of Ed. She remembered feeling this before, except that time had been filled with fear and even more anxiety, when the two men in blue military uniforms came to her house three years ago to inform her of her parents' death in Ishval.

The familiar sting behind her eyes signaled the coming of tears, but she forced her eyelids shut, taking deep breaths as she waited for the ache to leave her chest; maybe not _leave_, but at least diminish. It would never truly go away.

She didn't have time to think about her pain now though. Edward's was more important.

Although small traces of sleep still clung to her, Winry moved with a quiet, swift determination toward the door, not bothering with her house slippers because they would make that infernal _clopping _sound. She twisted the doorknob gently, trying to keep from breaking the silence with the sound of squeaking brass, even though she knew no one would be able to hear her; Pinako was sleeping in one of the neighboring surgery rooms downstairs, checking on Ed every hour or so, Edward was probably either too drugged or too lost to his nightmares to even be woken, and Alphonse…well, Al couldn't sleep, so she didn't need to worry.

A flash of pain at the thought of little Al, who was now not so little anymore, awake and alone all through the night flared throughout Winry's chest, and she bit her lip.

She left the door cracked slightly, then walked quietly down the hall to the stairs. Careful of the creaky fifth stair, she skipped over it, nearly loosing her balance in the process. She flailed her arms to help regain her footing, then grabbed the banister for support and quietly continued her descent.

The first thing she did was to see if Granny was still asleep. She peeped into the room where the old woman had been sleeping, and felt a sigh of relief bubble up from her throat at the sight of her dear grandmother, sound asleep on one of the cots. Winry smiled, then quietly shut the door as to not wake her; she was glad Granny was finally getting some sleep.

As she made her way to the neighboring surgical room where Edward had been staying since "the incident" as she referred to it, the nights that now added up to three, Winry was suddenly overcome with a sense of fear. Although she was ashamed to admit it, she didn't want to go in there. It scared her, not being able to help more; she'd been able to help stop the bleeding of Ed's stumps when he'd first gotten there and was still helping Granny with his bandaging, but was that all she could do? Granny was in charge of replacing hid IV fluids, forcing nutrients into his terribly weak body, and had Winry checking on him ever so often, but had to be something else she could do. Right?

She sighed, suddenly imagining Alphonse and his giant, uncoordinated hands, knowing he must feel even more useless than she did. At least she could put a cold wash clothe on Ed's feverish, sweat coated face, brush his matted hair away from his eyes, actually place her fingertips against the area where his right arm had previously been, without fear of hurting him. She knew that was what really terrified Alphonse: not being able to help his brother.

Still, Al had been the one to carry Edward all the way from their house to hers, cradling his broken, blood gushing body in through the door. Alphonse was the only reason Ed hadn't died from blood loss.

Al. Alphonse wasn't afraid to be in the sick room with Edward, even knowing there wasn't much of anything he could do to help. He stayed with Ed most of the day. But not the night. Not very often.

Standing there, Winry tried to imagine what it would be like, not being able to sleep at all. The thought wasn't appealing.

If Alphonse could stand being in the same room as his wounded brother, could bare not being able to fall asleep at night, then why was she so afraid?

Holding her jaw firm, she opened the door.

The first things she was aware of was the dim, yellowish light illuminating the room and the sound of shifting blankets. The light came from the small lamp that sat on the bedside table not far from where Edward lay in his cot, the rustling from Ed himself as he tossed lightly in his sleep, unable to move excessively due to his injuries. Winry shut the door quietly behind her as she walked somewhat timidly into the room, toward the sleeping boy.

Once at Edward's bedside, she leaned down over him, examining his features. She felt her lips fall into a quivering, miserable frown.

Since he couldn't move his entire body around freely in his sleep, Ed mostly tossed his head this way and that, his good arm flopping limply around him, right leg flexing beneath the blankets. His face was, beneath it's natural light tan, flushed red with fever and covered with sticky sweat. Dark gold hair was caked to his cheeks, caught in his mouth, stuck to the base of his neck; lips parted, he faintly mumbled in his sleep, but Winry couldn't make out the words. The rag Granny had placed on his forehead earlier that night had lost all traces of wetness, the heat of Ed's fever having quickly soaked all the water up, and now lay beside his face, tossed away long ago. Ed's eyebrows seemed to quiver, his mouth pulling down momentarily into a tight grimace, then just barely relaxing.

Winry could see now that the morphine was wearing off and most likely had been for a while. Cautiously, she placed her fingers to his forehead, nearly pulling back at the heat of his skin. She stroked her fingers over his face softly, pushing the hair out of his mouth, brushing over one of his surprisingly soft cheeks, hoping this could somehow sooth him.

Still, even if this did help, it wouldn't be enough. He would need the pain medicine, and Winry wasn't aloud to give him any.

Edward, having momentarily stilled, suddenly moved underneath her fingers. Winry began to pull back, but was stopped by the sight of Ed nuzzling against her hand, the fingertip of her pinky catching momentarily on his bottom lip as he did so. He angled himself in his sleep as to where her palm was cupping his right cheek, and then he sighed, a strange, brokenly painful yet somehow content little sound.

Winry was in shock. Edward, if he had been in his right mind and not the fragilely wounded person that he was now, would _never_ have let her touch him like that, never would have allowed it. She found herself captivated as she watched him; his face was still drawn up in pain, but his jaw didn't seem quite as tightly clenched.

Something in the way he had nuzzled into her hand suddenly reminded Winry of once long ago, when she was probably not even six yet and she'd been sick with a stomach virus. She could remember the way it felt like her stomach was burning away and biting at itself from the inside out, the way her entire body seemed to grow horribly limp and weak as she'd heaved the contents of her stomach into the commode, emptying it of hot bile and acid. Leaning weakly against the toilet, she could remember her mother coming into the bathroom, a cool wash clothe and a glass of ginger ale in hand. Her mother had sat the glass on the sink, then had kneeled down beside Winry, placing the clothe to her sweaty face. She had given her a gentle smile, then started wiping at the perspiration on her face, blue eyes very calming as she'd said, "It's only a little virus, Winry. You'll be better in no time." And Winry could remember snuggling into her mother's soft, sweet smelling hand, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the cool wetness on her face, trusting in her mother's words.

A bittersweet smile spread across Winry's face at the memory, but also at the fact that, if she was correct, Edward probably thought she was his mother. Her heart ached for him, but also for herself, as she wished more than anything he'd just told her that he and Al had been planning to resurrect Trisha Elric.

As if to confirm her theory, Ed mumbled into her hand, lips seeming to caress a word that sounded suspiciously like "mom".

She stroked her fingers over his cheek, trying to put a real smile on her face even as her eyes brimmed with tears, and said, voice surprisingly steady and strangely tender, "It's only a little pain, Edward. You'll be better in no time."

He sighed, turning into her hand a little more, some part of him hearing her words even through sleep.

Winry kept her hand on his face for several more minutes, simply stroking over his sweaty cheeks and forehead, trying to ignore the small rumbling in her stomach. She hadn't gotten around to eating much the night before at dinner and the lack of food was catching up with her.

She was finally pulled away from the action of caressing Edward's face by the look of pain that kept flashing across his features. He still needed the morphine.

A determined twinkle suddenly came into Winry's eyes and she smiled. Petting Ed's face once more, she stood and walked over to the medicine cabinet. Granny could kill her in the morning for this.

Reaching the large wooden cupboard, she glanced down at the notepad Granny had sat there the first night that Ed and Al arrived. Winry glanced over the list her grandmother had written to see the last time she'd given him morphine was a little over two hours ago, and the time before that had been at 9:35. Almost two hours in between exactly. Winry grabbed a pen and glanced over at the clock, then scribbled down 1:46. She reached inside and pulled out the small glass bottle containing the medicine, then a syringe, and lastly, a needle. She shoved the needle into the end of the syringe, pulling the protective cap from the sharp point as she did. Quickly, she placed the needle in the bottle and pushed the syringe down, then pulled it back up, watching as the white, silky looking substance filled up the syringe. Once done, she turned to look back at Ed.

Winry had never injected morphine or any other substance into a person's IV, but had watched her grandmother do it countless times. Still, she couldn't stop the fluttering nervousness that filled her heart and made her knees shake.

There was no way she could do this. Pinako hadn't yet gotten around to teaching her about what medicines to use during surgery or how to inject them, and Winry felt her hands begin to tremble.

She was just about to go wake Granny up when she heard Edward moan, a horribly pitiful, broken sound that no one, especially Edward, should ever make.

And that solidified her resolve, her faith in herself. She could do this. She had to. For him.

She walked over to the IV, studying the port. For a moment, she considered just shooting the drug straight into the bag, but was afraid that would mess something up and hurt Ed. Sighing, trying to not be afraid, she lifted the cap on the port and, after finally forcing her hand to stop shaking, inserted the needle into it. Carefully and painfully slow, she pressed down on the syringe and watched as the milky substance gradually crawled up into Ed's drip.

The drug didn't take long to work; she knew this from watching Edward and countless other patients. Winry wanted to watch Ed long enough to see if it helped any, but she made herself walk back across the room to put up her supplies, a sense of pride filling up her chest and causing her to smile at what she'd just done.

Winry had just finished putting everything back in it's correct place in the cupboard when she heard a relaxed nose sigh come from Edward. She turned around and walked over to the boy, pleased to have made those horrible lines leave his face, even for a little while. Now, his face was relaxed and calm, making him look several years younger. She was right; he did look innocent when he slept. The light cast a strange, almost ethereal glow across Ed's sleeping face, reminding Winry of, for some strange reason, an angel. Maybe it wasn't so strange though; his blonde hair did look sort of like a halo.

There was still the fever though. Winry picked up the clothe from his bed and quietly walked to the kitchen, going to the sink, then soaking the rag with icy cool water. She squeezed it out, then walked back into Ed's room and placed it on his head.

At the contact, Edward's eyelids slowly lifted and he looked around dazedly, trying to remember where he was. He looked over at Winry, who now sat on the floor beside him, her eyes wide and apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, barely above a whisper. "I was just checking on you. I didn't mean to wake you up."

He watched her, still lost to the clutches of sleep, but she could see he was forcing his eyes to stay open. "S'okay," he muttered, voice hoarse.

Winry stood up, feeling uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed at having been caught. _I should have just left before he had the chance to wake up!_ "Well…sorry, again. 'Night."

She was stopped from walking out of the room by a gentle, warm pressure on her hand.

When she turned back around, she looked down to see that Edward's left hand was reaching over his body and holding onto hers, his fingers surprisingly gentle on her eyes were more focused now, unnaturally dull golden irises swimming in the lamplight as he watched her, expression odd; he looked almost…hurt. Not physically, but maybe his feelings.

"Ah…" she began, trying not to blush.

"Stay," he whispered quietly, looking away from her, but still holding her wrist. "Stay. Please?"

A fluttering in her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger filled her. She nodded.

As soon as she gave notice that she would stay, Edward released her, then patted the edge of the bed expectantly.

Without another word, Winry sat down next to him.

The silence was awkward at first, as Winry had no clue why Ed would want her to stay and she wasn't sure if he even wanted to talk. His eyes were closed again, face to the ceiling, his hand resting across his stomach. Winry watched him from under her lashes, wanting to just say anything, but not sure is she should.

She was on the verge of just telling him to get some sleep and leave when she heard, so quiet she could have just imagined it, "Thanks."

Edward was looking up at her, his expression void of all emotion even as he said the sentiment. Winry watched him, he eyebrows furrowing, and she cocked her head to the side in confusion. "For what?" she asked, sincerely puzzled.

Ed rolled his eyes, but there was no irritation in the gesture; merely something that looked almost like exasperated affection. "For the morphine."

"You…how did you?"

"Pretty obvious. I start feeling better all of a sudden, and when I open my eyes, you're right there. Who else would it have been?" Even through the haze of medication and sleep and the dullness that Winry had now come to associate with him, Edward managed to give her a look that made her feel like she was an inch tall, barely to be worried with.

"Oh yeah," she replied, trying not to take his somewhat crass words personally; they came out slightly harder than she'd anticipated, bitter. "Well, it was nothing. Just, you know, doing what I needed to."

A rough, slightly clammy hand reached over and, somewhat hesitantly, rested over her own. She looked at their hands, then at Ed, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring off to the side, eyes focused on some other object. He glanced back at her, squeezing her hand softly.

She forgot what it was he had said that hurt her feelings.

"Thank you," he repeated, face still blank, like he felt nothing at all. But Winry didn't miss the appreciation his eyes held, along with the first sparkle she'd seen in days; they were still overcast gold, but they seemed to have lightened, just a tiny bit.

She smiled, somewhat shy at the intimacy he displayed, then squeezed his hand back. "Anytime."

They were like that for a minute, neither talking, their hands back in their rightful place. Winry watched Edward from the corner of her eyes, and it didn't surprise her when she saw him trying to fight sleep by keeping his eyes open.

"I better go," she said, standing up. Winry reached down and turned the cloth on his forehead onto the other, cooler side, then pulled the blankets up over his chest. She gave him a light smile. "You need to sleep."

It scared her when his eyes suddenly grew wide and slightly wild, pupils dilating. His hand reached up and grabbed her arm; it was trembling.

"Ed?" she asked, voice squeaking.

"Please…" he begged, voice raw and fragile; it sounded like tears weren't far away. "Don't go. Please. Not until I fall asleep at least, okay? Please?"

He watched her, that same nervous fear in his eyes, even as Winry's hands instinctively found their way to his face. She softly cupped his cheeks, giving him a small, humorless laugh that was the only thing keeping her from breaking down into tears.

"Okay. I'll stay here as long as you want me to," she said, her voice catching slightly.

It was amazing, the way Edward seemed to relax. His eyes lost that terrified, feral look and quickly turned back into their previous state of dulled cloudiness, but with the light of relief and satisfaction beneath. He sighed softly, still holding her arm, and he pulled at it gently.

Winry understood his message: she knelt down, her face resting beside his on the pillow, a hand going to his hair to brush it away from his eyes. He allowed her to continue, eyes slipping shut calmly.

For a reason that she wasn't yet able to understand, she liked this; being this close to Ed, touching his face and hair. It was nice. She gently bumped her head against his and sighed.

She was just beginning to feel sleep's embrace when Edward murmured, voice strangely chocked, "Thanks for earlier, too."

Winry sat up, trying to focus her eyes on Edward's face. He wasn't looking at her, but at his hand, expression ashamed. But why?

"For what?" she whispered.

"What you said, I mean."

Realization hit her somewhat slowly, but when it did, she understood he was talking about what she'd said when he'd nestled her hand: _"You'll be better in no time."_

She felt herself smile to cover up her embarrassment at him hearing that, then laughed lightly. "I meant it."

Edward looked at her, eyes suddenly guarded and closed off, but she just smiled. Gradually, as she watched him, his expression shifted from anger to surprise, to uncertainty, until finally settling on a combination of awe and hopefulness. His eyes were still dim with the terrors he'd inflicted upon Alphonse and himself, and Winry didn't really believe that he'd ever be the same as before, but this was progress. Just seeing his eyes lighten a fraction in tone, seeing his mouth curl up into a strange little encouraged expression instead of a beaten, hopeless frown, made Winry's heart the lightest it had been in days.

"Really?" he asked, voice very soft.

"Duh." She pushed herself up just enough to poke her nose against his and gave him her usual bright smile.

Edward looked unsure at first, like he wasn't sure if he could really smile or not anymore. Somehow, though, his lips parted into a small, somewhat shy smile. It was just a trace of his old confident grin, but it was still a smile, and Winry felt her cheeks suddenly grow a little pink at the softness of it. She'd never seen this smile before, this expression that looked so gentle and soft and thankful and utterly _not _Ed, but she liked it. A lot.

So instead of worrying about how Edward would be tomorrow, if he would plummet downward once again or be able to rise above the anguish, Winry focused on that sole smile, because it was a start. Things were going to change and might never be the same, but there was a chance that everything would be good again one day.

Because in that smile, Winry could see something she hadn't seen in a while: hope.

They fell asleep like that, their faces toward the other, Edward's body somehow managing to curl toward Winry's and her hand locked in his.


	5. Joy

**Story Five! It hasn't been too too long, but it has been a while since my last update (in my opinion). Anyway, here it is! This idea just hit me all of a sudden, because I was trying to think of something to write about, and I could just imagine little Edward telling Winry she smelt nice. This is the result. Also I just thought that I'd mention that I am probably getting close to the end of the Little Wonders series, so be ready. Let me know what you think!**

**StarKatt427**

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><p><strong>Story Five: Joy<strong>

_...Because he really can be sweet..._

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><p>Legs tucked underneath her, Winry sat on the old brown couch in the living room, the early September breeze blowing in through the open window and ruffling her hair, attempting to flip the pages of her book. She kept one finger on each top corner to hold them down, only moving her thumbs away so she could push a loose strand of hair behind her ears. Engrossed in the images and the words of her late father's medical volume, she sat contently reading through the pages and gazing at drawings of organs, pictures of doctors preparing for surgery, and medical charts.<p>

While most of her mind was absorbed with the book, another part, one she tried not to let swallow her very often and unless she was alone, was thinking about the date; September fourth. In less than a month, it would be October. Which was also the month that Edward had announced he planned on heading out to East City and taking the State Alchemy exam. He'd stood up one night at dinner to a curious Winry and Pinako and a consenting Alphonse, and with the same determined look on his face as he'd shown the night they'd begun his automail surgery, he'd said, "I'm gonna get my license in two months." And while he hadn't said anything about leaving, Winry knew it was implied.

A small spasm of loneliness overtook her for just a moment, but she quickly pushed it back into the recesses of her heart. She'd known they would be leaving for almost a year now; it shouldn't have come as a surprise that their departure was approaching so soon. This would be her last month with her best friends, and she wouldn't waste it moping around or wallowing in self pity.

"Hey."

Winry looked up from her page and toward the doorway to see Edward standing there in nothing but his boxers and a T-shirt, gold hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, reminding her of his mother, instead of the usual braid he almost constantly donned now that he could actually plait his hair, a few strands hanging free around his face. He was leaning against the doorframe, a hand habitually grabbing at the waistband of his shorts as he looked at her, expression slightly annoyed.

"Didn't you hear Granny call you?" he asked, apparently put out at having been removed from his earlier activity.

"No," Winry replied, brushing another piece of hair out of her face as she waited for him to get to the point.

"It's time to eat. And since _you _didn't hear, she made _me _get up and come get you."

One corner of her mouth turned up slightly at his words and she imagined Ed sitting at the table, mouth almost watering at the sight of a meal. She didn't say anything, instead taking a moment to stretch her arms above her head, the action pulling her shirt up slightly above her stomach, then looking back at Ed.

He had a strange expression on his face, caught between fascination and irritation, his cheeks slightly red as he watched her. Winry felt an eyebrow raise momentarily as she tried to figure out why he was blushing, but quickly gave up and went back to her book.

"Well?" he asked, voice insistent as he crossed his arms.

"What?"

"Come on!"

"I'll be there in a second. I just need to finish this chapter."

Edward blew air out of his mouth in exasperation, letting his arms hang loose. Winry rolled her eyes, gave him a smile, then went back to reading.

As she read, Winry was highly aware that Edward was watching her, waiting for her to finish so he could go eat. Trying not to let her frustration get the better of her, she forced herself to pretend he wasn't there, which she failed horribly at; when Edward came into a room, he was like the sun, filling it with warmth and fire and light and an all consuming energy that seemed to grow and surround her, making it hard to focus.

After about two minutes, finally fed up, Winry turned on him, expression pulled down in a light frown, horribly at contrast with her earlier smile. Edward, unaware that she was about to look up at him, jumped slightly.

"Are you going to stand there until I finish?" Winry asked, trying to keep her voice from dropping into its seriously annoyed pitch.

"Uh, sorry," he murmured, seemingly dazed, which caught Winry off guard. What was wrong with him?

"You can go on and eat, just tell Granny I'll be there in a minute."

"Okay."

He didn't move.

Shutting the book on her finger as to not loose her page, Winry sighed at him. "What now?"

"What are you reading?"

Her annoyance at him lifted and she realized that he was watching her read out of curiosity. Both Elric brothers were avid readers, as long as the book was alchemy related. Winry, though, expanded more genres and read anything she could find, including her parents' old medical books.

She smiled and jerked her head slightly, indicating him to come closer as she reopened the book. He sauntered over at a very relaxed pace, bare feet making two different sounds on the wood floor; one a fleshy _tap_, the other a metallic _thump_. He leaned over and examined the page she was on.

"It's one of Dad's books I found a few weeks ago," she said, positioning the book so he could see a little better, suddenly aware of how close her was to her, his new automail arm behind her on the backrest, his flesh hand on his hip. He leaned down farther, and she felt a strand of his hair brush over her bare shoulder.

"Makes sense," he said, knowing just how she was. "What's this one about?"

"Mainly about the organs of the thorax; the heart, lungs…it mentions the ribs and cartilage too."

Edward moved his left hand toward the book, finger pointing at an image of a man dressed in surgical attire, a team of other doctors behind him, and asked, "What'd he do?"

For a moment, Winry couldn't find her voice, because right when he had moved to indicate the picture, his hand had gently brushed hers, igniting a tingly feeling in her own that was not in the least unpleasant. On the contrary, it was deliciously nice, the way it ran all the way up to her chest and stomach and filled her with a fluttery, light sensation.

Luckily, she gained her bearings quickly enough so that he never noticed anything had flustered her and no emotion had had enough time to cross her face. "That's Doctor Vladimir Perić from Creta. This book's six years old, so about six years ago, he performed the first minor heart surgery with the help of an Amestrian surgeon."

Edward's eyes took on an interested light, his face lifting in a rapt expression. "Wow."

_Nice vocabulary_, Winry thought dryly, but she knew that was the first thing she had thought too while reading this section. "It's still going to be a while before anyone does a major procedure, but this was a major step in medical science."

"I bet," Edward said, adjusting his weight, positioning himself even closer to her.

Both silently looked at the pages as Winry flipped them, stopping to gaze at pictures or talk about a certain article that they found interesting. Pinako came into the room once and told them to hurry up and that the food would get cold, Winry replying that they'd be there soon, to which the old woman had rolled her eyes fondly and walked back to the kitchen to converse with Al.

It was nice, this quiet, enjoyable moment Winry was sharing with Edward. A new memory. She relaxed into the couch, his warmth surrounding her as they skimmed the pages, Edward still standing over her shoulder, cheek sometimes accidentally brushing against her hair, and Winry leaning more towards him.

They were eleven pages past the earlier stopping point when Edward said, involuntarily and somewhat content, "You smell good."

Winry's fingers froze from turning the page, her eyes going wide and warmth flooding her face as she slowly curved her neck upward to look at Ed, shocked and wonderfully pleased.

Edward seemed to realize he'd spoken aloud, because right when Winry looked at him, he blushed a dark pink all the way down to his neck and his lips parted, catching on words, his eyes large and surprised, expression more embarrassed than Winry could remember ever seeing.

For a moment, both stared at each other, unable to speak.

It was Winry who broke the silence by asking, voice very quiet and strangely soft, "What?"

Edward quickly pulled back away from her into a straight position as if she was a plague, a hand scratching at his head nervously as he stuttered, "No, I didn't mean that."

Winry's expression caught on confusion and hurt at his words. "So I stink?" she asked, mortified.

Realizing his blunder, Ed used his hands for emphasis as he continued, nerves making him speak so quickly that Winry could barely understand him. "Wait! I mean, I didn't mean you _don't _smell good or anything, just that you…uh…"

"Uh what?" she demanded, glaring up at him.

"Would you two hurry up!" Pinako called, making both of them jump, the book falling from Winry's lap and onto the floor.

Edward, thankful for the excuse to leave, nearly headed out through the door without answering her, but at the last moment, quickly walked over in front of Winry and knelt down, picking up the book.

Winry, about to demand he explain himself and also very tempted to run into her workroom and grab the new wrench she'd just recently gotten to bash him upside the head, was cut off when he said, voice unguarded and completely not like himself, "I wasn't lying."

Lost, Winry cocked her head slightly as she watched him. He was still on the floor, staring at the book but not really seeing it, his cheekbones and nose lightly stained in a soft blush. He glanced up from the book and looked at her, eyes sunglow yellow and very warm, open. "You smell really good."

A blush colored Winry's fair face at his words, her heart swelling up into her throat, rendering her speechless. Up until this moment, she had often wondered if an Edward this soft, this exposed and sweet, could ever exist. Now, as she looked at him, she knew an Ed like this _was _real, just hidden beneath all the pride and cockiness.

And she liked this Edward.

He abruptly turned away, but Winry didn't miss the way his blush had darkened, and he stood up, handing the book to her without glancing her way. He shoved his left hand out impatiently, glancing out from the corner of his eyes at her. "So hurry up, gear head," he said, voice back to it's usual bratty, insistent tone; still, Winry could now hear an almost crooning, tender tenor buried deep within his words.

Winry smiled, happiness filling her being and making her give a gentle laugh, telling him she understood. She reached up and took hold of his hand, larger than hers but still small, and said, "Okay."

As they walked to the kitchen, him in front and surprisingly still holding her hand, Winry watched his back and thought about how much he'd grown over the last year. Since he and Al had tried to bring their mother back, Edward had become quieter and didn't speak to her as freely as he once had, his face taking on the look of a man who had seen all the horrors of the world but still holding onto that childish nature. He seemed, somehow, wiser now, or maybe that was just to her, almost like he was many years older than Winry instead of the two months he was. This new Edward was more hardheaded and determined than ever, now solely focused on getting Alphonse's body back.

But there were other times when he had been so weak during those first few months, whether from the automail surgery, nightmares, or just the weight that now rested on his shoulders, nights where he cried himself to sleep from fear that his little brother hated him. She had stayed with him during some of those nights, at times brushing his hair away from his face, other times simply holding his hand. His voice was a little deeper now, face a little more chiseled, body harder from training; he was growing up. He might not have grown in height, but his presence was unmatched.

In more recent months, he had become increasingly independent with his automail, learning how to write with his left hand and braid his hair, more adamant about not giving up. Edward was stronger now, and Winry couldn't help but wonder if she'd had something to do with that new strength.

And when Edward's grip on her hand tightened into a warm embrace, she knew she had and was pleased.


	6. Surprise

**I'm back! And here you have it, Story Six. I'd been wanting to do a story involving Ed and milk, and then I got the idea to do this story, which makes me smile :). Story Six takes place around the end of July in the year 1911 (second series time based!), so it occurs a little over a month before **"Joy"**. I have to say my favorite lines to write were some near the very end, including a very adorable (to me) Edward & his reaction to a certain thing happening. I love it! Hopefully, I'll get to working on the next story or something new soon, so keeps your fingers crossed and stay tuned! And again, thanks everyone; you guys who read and review make writing fanfiction totally worth it.**

**StarKatt427**

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><p><strong>Story Six: Surprise<strong>

_...Because they both learned milk can actually bring about good things..._

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><p>The three of them, the two Elric brothers and Winry Rockbell, sat at the table, the two oldest caught in the middle of a staring contest. Edward scowled deeply at his opponent, leaning forward on the table top with his hands in fists, one of his eyes twitching ever so often from the strain of trying not to blink. Winry stared right back, expression deadly serious but holding a hint of confidence; she knew she would win. Her hands flat against the wood surface, she remained unruffled and calm under Ed's harsh glare. Alphonse sat meekly in his chair, the helmet that was now his face hiding all expression. Beyond the mask, though, he watched them nervously, waiting for one of them to win and the other to blow up, and he, like Winry, knew what the outcome would be.<p>

Between the two facing adversaries sat the offending glass filled almost to the brim with the white substance that was milk, the cause of this confrontation, sitting contently like it had not a care in the world and knew nothing of it's crime toward the eldest Elric.

Without even the appearance of someone on the verge of blinking, Winry said, voice devoid of all emotion and holding a very commanding edge, "Drink it."

Edward's left eye twitched at the exertion of keeping his bright yellow orbs open, but he managed to. His frown intensified and a vein in his forehead throbbed. "No," he said through clenched teeth, voice hard enough that anyone else would have given up right then and there.

Winry wasn't anyone else.

"Drink it!" she hollered out, finally loosing her cool appearance; still, she didn't bat an eyelash.

"No!"

And so the glare down went on, Edward's eyes stinging and on the verge of watering, Winry's now beginning to burn as well. Still, neither would relent, and Al sat in between them, trying to prepare for the approaching explosion.

By the time both of the eleven-year-olds' eyes were trembling with effort, the whites of their eyes steadily becoming more bloodshot, Al was fidgeting in his seat, large gauntlets nervously gripping at his loincloth and wringing it in his hands. Edward and Winry were on the edges of their chairs, both ready to jump up in victory when the other lost. The milk filled glass remained where it had been placed.

Not one of them was prepared when Pinako walked into the house from outside, the door slamming shut behind her. At the last possible moment, Winry managed to force her eyelids to remain open, but Edward's slammed into place just for a fraction of a second and then they were open again, eyes disbelieving and horrified.

Winry jumped up from her chair, grin spread wide as she exclaimed, "I win!"

"Cheater!" Edward yelled, pushing up from his chair and causing it to crash to the floor, his expression livid.

"How did I cheat?" she demanded, giving him a very smug grin as she crossed her arms.

Lost for an excuse, Edward roared out a beyond irate "Dammit!" before slamming his hands down on the table, automail making an extremely hard _thwack _sound. The glass tipped to the side once, twice, before Al reached out and steadied it, having already been prepared for this.

"I'm not gonna drink it," Edward said in a snarl, short fingernails scratching over the wooden table's surface.

"We agreed that if you won, I wouldn't bug you about milk anymore, and if I won, you'd drink the entire glass."

"No!"

"You can't go back on it, you jerk! We made a deal."

Al, deciding silence was the best way to go, thought, _That's because he was sure he'd win, even though she kicks his butt every time. _But he would never say this, even if it was true; he couldn't stand to see that hurt, betrayed look Edward got when he sided with Winry.

"Screw the deal," Ed said, turning his back on her as he stomped toward the door. "I'm not drinkin' that crap."

Winry shrieked, enraged and high like a banshee, "You liar! You're never gonna get any taller if you don't drink it!"

Edward spun on her and screamed out, "I _am _growing, so shut up about it and mind your own damn business, you automail freak!" And with that, he stormed out of the kitchen in a mad rush.

Winry screamed in annoyance, stomping her foot for emphasis like a small child who doesn't get their way.

A moment later, Pinako popped in through the kitchen door, expression annoyed and slightly humorous. "What's with all the yelling?" she asked, hands on hips as she looked directly at Winry.

Winry knew her grandmother had heard because she was inside, but if anyone had been outside their house or just a ways down the road, they would have been able to hear the screaming match through the open windows. Everyone knew both Edward and she had very strong lungs and vocal cords and that they were the loudest children in Resembool, something that embarrassed Pinako to no end when they were caught arguing.

"Edward went back on his word," she said, pouting as she sat back down, arms tight over her chest.

"About what?"

"He said he'd drink milk if I beat him in a staring contest."

"Good grief," the old woman murmured, running a hand over her head before looking back at her granddaughter. "Don't you know by now he won't drink it? Why don't you just leave him alone?"

"He makes such a big deal out of drinking it, but he's just being dramatic," Winry replied, lips pursed.

"That may be true, but Al doesn't force him to drink milk."

"He should."

"Brother listens to me about a lot of things," Al put in, "but not about that, so I know not to even try." Even though he knew Edward _did _need to drink milk to help his bones and teeth grow correctly, Alphonse wasn't quite brave enough to force feed milk to his older, now _much _much smaller brother.

"He's going to be short forever!" Winry complained.

Pinako sighed, smiling wryly. "Even if you don't notice it, he _is _growing. Just at a very slow pace."

"It's sad that your best friend's shorter than you when he's a guy and you're a girl."

"Oh, don't you worry. Edward's gonna catch up to you in a few years, and then he'll shoot right on past you until it's _you _having to look up at _him_."

Winry snorted, looking away. "I doubt it."

"Fine, fine. Look, I've got some work to do, so please try not to kill each other, okay?" the woman asked, walking forward to pat her granddaughter lightly on the head, then turning back toward the door.

"You really should have seen that coming," Al said quietly once Pinako had left, praying Winry wouldn't blow up at him.

"Yeah, I know. It's just that I plan on winning this argument someday."

If Al had had a mouth, he would have smiled. "You've been trying since we were little. How's that gonna work?"

She laid her head down and gently tapped it against the table. "No clue."

Alphonse laughed, a hollow, echoing sound inside his armor that made Winry's heart pinch up for just a moment. "Good luck."

"How long do you think he's gonna sulk?" she asked, staring at the table.

"This seems like a big wound to his ego, so probably a while. And you?"

"What?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"How long are _you _going to sulk?"

"I am not sulking."

The red glow that was Al's eyes seemed to narrow in what either was a skeptical frown or a knowing grin. "Yeah."

They were quiet for a moment, Al unnaturally so, until Winry said, "It's not that he wouldn't drink the milk."

Alphonse simply looked at her, understanding what she was getting at. "It's because he went back on his word."

Winry didn't say anything.

"Brother won't apologize willingly, you know that."

"It's got to be me, doesn't it? I have to say it first."

"Yeah."

Winry sat up straight, sighing deeply. "Fine," she said, voice unenthusiastic at the prospect of confronting a dangerously angry Edward; it made it worse that he was angry with her.

Still, this needed to be resolved, and so she left Alphonse in the kitchen, knowing exactly where Edward would be.

* * *

><p>The tree Edward was hiding in was a large, old thing, vibrant and glorious and residing not far from the creak. Winry quickly placed her foot on the closest branch to the ground and began her climb, knowing which limbs were sturdy and which weren't, wondering how far Ed had gone up. Her question was answered at about twenty-five feet when she saw him sitting with his back against the tree, legs hanging off the limb he sat on, arms crossed and shoulders slumped. Even though she couldn't see his face yet, she knew he was frowning.<p>

Even though Edward heard her, he didn't say anything, not even to tell her to leave, which seemed like an encouraging sign to her. She continued to move until she reached a limb that was slightly below the one he resided on, and she sat down, hand against the trunk of the tree, legs dangling over to the left.

She didn't even have time to tell him 'hey' when Ed muttered out, "Go 'way."

A slight smile spread across her face at his at words, and it grew even more when she realized he was actually pouting, bottom lip slightly jutting out, reminding her of when they were little and he would have his feelings hurt. "Come on, is that any way to greet someone?"

He didn't reply.

She sighed, smile vanishing. Winry was a prideful person, and though she was nowhere near as egotistical as Ed, this was going to be difficult, especially since _she _was the one who wanted an apology. She took a moment to push her feelings aside, took a deep breath, and, without looking at him, said, "I'm sorry."

Edward remained silent, but she could see from the corner of her eye that he had straightened up slightly; he was listening.

"I should have let it drop, but it's funny seeing you react to milk and about your height. You won't drink what you don't want to. So, sorry."

She twiddled her thumbs, finally looking up at him, and then her eyes grew wide when she saw that he was smiling. It wasn't exactly a grin, but she could tell he was satisfied with her apology and that he accepted it, even though he probably knew it wasn't completely true; it would be very difficult for her to ever stop trying to get him to drink milk. Edward was one to usually hold a grudge, but it was hard for him to stay angry with Winry, and she knew it. So, for the moment, this was enough.

His eyes had a somewhat haughty appearance to them as he said, "So, you finally realize you were wrong. Alright, I accept."

Winry gave him a smile back, rolling her eyes. After a moment, she casually said, "You're so predictable."

"How?" he asked, confused and leery of her answer.

"You always come here when you're mad or upset."

He frowned, but it held none of the earlier hostility he'd expressed. "Whatever."

They sat silently looking down toward the creek, Ed's arms up behind his head and Winry's hands in her lap. The water was hard to make out from the distance, appearing almost like a winding snake, but Winry could see the small swirls it made as it rolled along. It was nice.

Out of no where, so quietly she almost missed it, Edward muttered, "Sorry."

She looked at him, slightly confused. He was still looking at the water, face strangely soft and gentle looking. "About going back on my word and all."

"Oh." She felt herself smile, happy to get the apology she had wanted. Edward was still too young to completely understand the honor of a man's word, and it would be another several years before he really grasped the principle, but for the moment, this was a very satisfyingly sweet instant that Winry enjoyed tremendously.

Instead of telling him she accepted his apology though, she smiled brightly and said, "It's cool."

Ed looked at her, giving a crooked smile. "Yeah. We're cool."

* * *

><p>Four days later, Winry dug through the kitchen cabinets, trying to find something to snack on while she took a break from working on her and Granny's newest automail client's leg. She had just placed a packet of crackers on the counter and was about to close the cabinet when her gaze caught a bottle of dark brown syrupy substance, the label reading CHOCOLATE SAUCE. She took hold of it and, seeing it had never been opened, figured it was a new product her grandmother was testing out. Winry closed the cupboard and walked to the cutlery draw, drabbed a knife, then quickly broke the seal that surrounded the top. Flipping the cap and turning it over, she squeezed the bottle over her hand until a fat dark dot landed on her finger, and she quickly put the digit in her mouth, sucking the thick substance off.<p>

I was amazing, all sweet and tasting like nothing she'd ever had. Winry smiled, quickly squirting more on her finger, and when she had eaten that, she grabbed a spoon and filled it up with the chocolate, popping it in her mouth.

As she sucked on her spoon, she quickly skimmed the back label, looking at all the things you could use the sauce for; there were several, but the one that caught her attention made her smile: chocolate milk.

Thus came to her the greatest idea she'd ever had.

* * *

><p>When Edward walked into the kitchen ten minutes later, Winry was sitting at the table, a glass in her hand filled with a pale, cloudy brown liquid. She was wiping her arm across her mouth, removing the excess liquid from around her lips as he walked over toward her, eyeing her drink curiously.<p>

"Whatcha drinkin'?" he asked, pulling a chair out to sit down.

Winry, instead of answering, handed him the glass. "Try it."

The glass was cold and wet against his hand, water drops condensing on it, and since there was no ice, Edward figured whatever it was, she had gotten it from the fridge. He sniffed at it, taking in the sweet smell and trying to figure out what it was. He smelt it once more, then sloshed it around the glass and watched the liquid cling to the sides momentarily. "What is it?" he asked, a little unsurely.

"Just try it," Winry said, laughing. "It's really good."

Watching her nervously, he scrunched up his nose and brought the glass to his lips, quickly turning it up and taking a small sip. His face relaxed immediately, eyes loosing their hesitation, and he took a larger gulp.

Winry watched him, smiling, but it wasn't a sneaky leer; it was a very pleased, slightly lopsided smile. The sight of Edward drinking milk, even if it didn't taste like it, was amazing.

He sat the glass down, grinning at her as he swiped an arm over his mouth. "Chocolate?"

"Yup."

"It's good."

She tried not to giggle, only failing slightly, but Ed didn't notice.

"What is it?" he asked again.

Winry felt guilt and nerves finally catch up with her actions, knowing she would probably have to tell him the truth. "You really want to know?"

Ed cocked an eyebrow, giving her a little laugh as he smiled. "Just tell me what it is."

She glanced at the glass for a moment, took a deep breath, then looked back up at Ed and said in a very steady, nonchalant voice, like it wasn't the big deal that it would be to him, "Chocolate milk."

Edward looked at her incredulously, eyes widening and jaw dropping. He stared at her, then at the glass of milk, then back to her, and finally to the drink once more. "What?"

"I found some chocolate sauce, and it said you can put it in milk and make chocolate milk. I just wanted to try it."

"So…so I drank _milk_?" he asked, voice strangely high. He looked at her, disbelieving.

She looked away, hating his expression and knowing it was her fault. _Why did I even think to do this?_ she thought. _We just got over a fight we had about milk, and then I do this to him._

"Y-yeah," she said weakly, staring down at her hands that rested in her lap. "Sorry. I just thought it would be good and then you came in, and I thought you might like it too…"

Edward didn't say anything for a full minute, simply staring at the glass of chocolate milk. Winry would look up every now and then to watch him, but always ended up looking back down.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Edward muttered nonchalantly, "Ah, well…it wasn't that bad."

She jerked up and looked at him. Edward's mouth was in an extremely loose frown, a fake one, and he was looking at her with somewhat astounded eyes.

He was lying, and they both knew it.

Winry smiled, giving a little laugh, and Ed looked away, blushing slightly.

Now that that was settled, Winry reached out for the glass, wanting more. She had taken two sips and was about to take another when Edward asked, timidly, "Can I have some more?"

He gave her a little guilty smile, expectant, and Winry found herself thinking it was a very cute smile. She nodded, handing him the glass.

Ed took a few sips before passing it back to her, this time forgetting to wipe his mouth and leaving a dark ring above his upper lip. Winry giggled.

He frowned, quickly annoyed, his mood switching in a flash. "What now?"

"Nice mustache."

Edward's frown lightened to a small grin and he gave a little embarrassed laugh, looking away from her as he realized what she had been amused at. "Oh." He lifted his hand, preparing to wipe the back of it over his face, but stopped when Winry leaned forward on top of the table.

"Here, I got it," she said, thumb stroking over the milk on his lip and wiping it away. She took her hand and brushed the bottom of her palm over his mouth, removing the rest she hadn't seem from across the table.

Her hand still on his mouth, it suddenly dawned on her what she was doing: touching Ed. Touching Ed's mouth. With her hand and fingers.

And, coming as a complete shock to her, she liked it. His lips were more thin than thick and were slightly chapped, but tremendously warm. She hadn't realized it when she'd first brushed her thumb over his lips, but at the contact, Edward had gone stiff, his breathing stopped. He watched her with doe wide eyes, blinking them owlishly in shock as his cheeks blushed dark pink, then light red.

Now that she was aware of what she was doing and who she was touching, her own breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened, staring straight into Ed's, face growing uncomfortably hot.

His lips moved underneath her hand and brushed against her palm, the action managing to pull her back to her senses.

Winry jerked back into her seat and she glared down at her feet, too mortified to look at him. "Ah, s-sorry."

Since she wasn't looking at Ed, she didn't see the soft, very innocently spellbound expression cross his face, lighting his eyes and pulling a smile to his lips that he never knew had existed. He lifted his flesh thumb and lightly touched his lip where her own finger had been.

This moment of wonder only lasted a second though, because he quickly found himself grimacing at the way he was acting like a stupid little kid, and, horribly aware of the heat crawling down his neck, he immediately pulled his hand away, looking down at the table, at the floor, anywhere but at the girl a few feet away from him.

Nerves made his voice strangely husky, deeper, as he said, "It's fine."

He said noting else, and neither did she, and they sat there in a strange silence that they'd never experienced before and didn't know what to make of.

When Winry finally found the courage to look up, instead of seeing Edward, she saw the glass of milk in front of her face, Ed's fingers curled around it.

"Here," he said.

She took it from him, careful not to touch his fingers, and took a drink, the cold liquid thick and chocolaty and sweet as it went down her throat. She took a few more sips before pulling it away from her face, tongue flicking over and around her mouth for a second, licking at the remaining milk on her lips.

Winry looked over at Ed, who was slouched forward in his chair, elbows on the table and chin resting on his palm. His yes momentarily darted to her, then quickly looking away in a uneasy manner. She felt herself smile, still a little nervous and unsure at what had just happened between them, but she thought that it might not be such a bad thing.

The glass was now a little less than half full, so when she pushed it toward Ed, she said, strangely shy, "You can have the rest."

He looked at the milk, then her, and for a moment, Winry was afraid he wasn't going to take it. Her mind was put at ease, though, when he gave her a small nod, smiling that same embarrassed smile from earlier. He took the glass and held it in his hand, gazing at it thoughtfully.

She felt herself laugh a little as she asked, "What's wrong?"

Edward looked up at her, giving her a very big grin that was serious and joking at the same time. "If you tell anyone I drank milk, I'll kill you."

Winry laughed, a real laugh this time, nodding her head. So Edward _did _like milk, as long as it has chocolate in it. They would have to do this more often, now that she knew he would actually drink it as long as it was just the two of them. "I got it. I won't tell."

His grin turned just a fraction of an inch softer, as did his eyes, and his cheeks were dusted with pink. "Thanks."

She just smiled.


	7. Bravery

**Story Seven! Finally, right? Usually, I update this every two weeks or so, so it's actually been (quickly flips through handy dandy calendar) two weeks and six days! Yeah, so it's been almost three weeks; that's good. It just felt like a whole lot longer since I updated to me! Anyway, Bravery is, time wise, the first story to occur in the **Little Wonders** universe, and it takes place the night Edward gets his automail ports put in. Like the last three stories (**"Comfort"**, **"Joy"** and **"Surprise"**), this one comes from inside Winry's head (third person limited) and, unlike any of my other stories that I can think of, Edward has no dialogue except for talking in his sleep. It's sorta just a really cute "Aw!" moment. I'm probably going to make Story Eight come from Edward's view, because I haven't done that since **"Faith"**. As always, thank you everyone, for sticking with me and giving me reviews. You make me smile and feel all warm and fuzzy!**

**And, as you've probably notice, I'm adding this one on the 10th anniversary on 9-11. Gosh, had it really been that long? I was 6 when that happened...**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

><p><strong>Story Seven: Bravery<strong>

_...Because when it comes to him, she can always find the courage she needs..._

* * *

><p>Today had been tiring. Not just physically, but emotionally, and Winry sat, drained, at the table, a glass of untouched water her grandmother had quickly fixed in front of her. She stared at it, not really seeing anything, her mind still in the surgery room with Pinako and Edward, with equipment and blood and vomit and needles and wires and screams and things you only should see in nightmares.<p>

Today had been the day Edward had his ports put in.

Pinako had warned him early on it would be less painful to have one put in at a time, but the rehab would be slower, and since he'd given himself a year, time was of the essence. He'd had both ports put in today, not quite an hour ago.

Winry exhaled shakily, her eyes closing, and as she saw Ed pass out, body limp and unmoving and so utterly small, heard his chocked off scream ringing in her ears. She opened her eyes again, but it didn't help block out the memories.

Alphonse clanked into the room and looked back toward the operation room anxiously, having not been allowed in there since the moment Pinako began preparing to install the ports and Edward had firmly requested—demanded, actually—that Al not be in there when it happened. Ed hadn't said it, but Winry knew he didn't want his little brother seeing him weaker than he already was.

Somehow, even though she felt like she was about to drop, she smiled at Al. "Hey."

"Hey," he replied, looking once more to the room where his brother lay, hopefully unconscious. He turned back to her, fidgeting where he stood. "How…how did it go?" he asked timidly.

Winry sighed, knowing the truth would be best. "He passed out cold when we put them in. Don't worry," she amended quickly at the way the lights that were now his eyes had seemed to almost tremble, "that usually happens. Especially since he having both done at the same time, so it's going to be harder on him. But you know Ed; he's strong. He'll be fine."

Though a nervous air seemed to still remain around Alphonse, his metal shoulders seemed to relax at her words, and he put his back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, relived. "Thank goodness," he muttered softly, head bowed, almost like in prayer.

She'd said Edward would be fine. But Winry, her heart somewhere in her throat and her eyes burning as she looked down at the blood spattering her smock, found herself wondering if he really would be.

Minutes later, Winry heard the surgery room door open and close, and then her grandmother was in the kitchen, face all wrinkles and small eyes, her own white smock covered in even more blood than Winry's. She began wiping her glasses as Winry and Al stood up, him as quickly as a suit of armor could, both waiting for her to tell them Ed's condition.

The old woman sighed harshly, and from the way her hand was twitching, Winry could tell she was missing her pipe. "He's down for tonight," she began, looking up first at Alphonse, then to her granddaughter. "I gave him a really powerful sedative, so he shouldn't be waking up any time soon."

"Is it that bad?" Al asked softly, almost scared to know the answer.

Pinako nodded once, a quick movement. "In a little while, you can go in there and sit with him," she said, walking up to pat his knee softly, just like she would have done had he still been in his normal body.

"Do you need any help cleaning up?" Winry asked, knowing there probably wasn't much she could do to help anymore but wanting to do something.

Pinako looked at her, almost like she was trying to decide if she could handle whatever she was planning on having her do. "Actually, there is. Come on, I need to talk to you." She motioned for her to follow, and then walked into the hall.

Winry stopped beside Al, placing her hand on his arm in a comforting way. She smiled. "It's fine, I promise," she said, then quickly followed after her grandmother.

When she found Pinako, she already had her pipe lit and was puffing away vigorously. "Granny?" Winry asked softly.

"He's okay, really. I wasn't lying," the woman said, leaning against the wall, keeping her voice low in case Al was listening. "But he lost a lot of blood. It's not enough to be life threatening, no where near as much as the night they came here, but it's more than I excepted. The risk of infection's low, thankfully, so he should be alright. He's just going to be in a lot of pain for the next week or so, maybe longer."

"Is there anything I need to do?"

Pinako eyed her gently, yet firmly. "Honey, I thought you were about to either throw up or start crying when you saw him bleeding, and then when he—"

"I know, I know," she cut her off, embarrassed with herself for acting that way. She'd seen blood countless times, so it shouldn't have bothered her to see another patient bleeding out. But this was Edward, her best friend, and, in truth, she had been closer to crying than getting sick. "I'll do better next time, I promise."

Pinako smiled proudly. "I know you will. You're still young, and you weren't as prepared as you thought you'd be."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, child," she scolded, blowing a ring of gray smoke into the air. She pushed her glasses up on her nose. "There _is _something I need you to do, but it's not cleaning up."

Winry's felt her breathing catch for just a second and, even though she loathed to admit it, she was scared of the assignment her grandmother was about to give her. "Yes?"

"Even though I gave him the sedative, those ports are going to be killin' him when he wakes up. The pain won't be as bad, though, if we keep hot rags on them for a little while and have them on when he wakes up." She looked up at Winry. "Keep the rags hot and make sure they stay on the ports. That's what I need you to do."

Winry wanted to scream, to tell her No, I'd rather do something else, anything else, but that wasn't the type of person she was. She'd been ready to go in and clean up any stray blood and towels and put away needles and syringes, but…not this. Not taking care of Ed, not when he was like this. She was scared she'd end up bawling.

But she was a Rockbell woman, and Rockbell women were strong. She thought of her mother for a moment, the countless time she'd heard her say that with a proud smile on her face, blue eyes bright and alive, brave and determined.

That was who she wanted to be.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>Somehow, Pinako was able to keep Alphonse in the kitchen, even after he'd found her in the bathroom running steaming hot water into a small tub. Winry wasn't sure how though; maybe she'd just scared him enough. That was just who Granny was: strong-minded and scary as hell when she wanted to be, a solid presence.<p>

Now, she stood with her grandmother outside of Ed's room, her carrying several rags and Pinako with the tub of water. Winry felt the old woman watching her, waiting to see if she'd chicken out.

She was terrified, not only of what she'd see, but what she'd hear. Her legs were shaking, as were her hands, and she swallowed thickly, praying Granny couldn't tell she _did _want to wimp out.

_Rockbell women are strong._

She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply to clear the fear that was growing, and then glared at the door. She was ready.

Winry didn't see it, but Pinako smirked approvingly.

Without wasting another precious moment, Winry opened the door and walked in.

The smell of blood was the first thing that hit her, wet iron and sharp as in flooded her nostrils, and then she smelt the vomit and had to keep herself from gagging. She smelt alcohol, antiseptic and that hospital smell that she was gradually getting used to. The room was warm, tinged with sweat, and Winry could already feel her clothes sticking to her skin.

Pinako passed her and walked right to the bed a few feet away, quickly kneeling down to set the tub on the floor. Winry followed after until she was standing at Ed's bedside, looking down at him with large blue eyes.

Edward lay in the bed under a thick blanket, so, for the moment, she couldn't see his body. On further inspection, Winry saw he was shivering, the fever hitting him in waves, causing him to be cold at one moment and burning alive at another; now it seemed he was freezing, even beneath the quilt. His face was slick with sweat, shining in the lamplight, his expression somewhere closer to being relaxed than in pain thanks to the tranquilizer.

What really made her chest ache was just how small he looked, a little boy swallowed by blankets and surrounded by the smell of his own blood.

Pinako stood straight now, looking down at Edward as well. "Get them ready."

Winry knelt down to the tub and dumped two of the rags under the water, then nearly drew her hands back at the hotness of it of her skin. Ignoring the burning heat, she forced herself to make sure the rags were completely wet. She lifted them and quickly rung most of the water out, one by one, and then she rose from her knees to look back over Edward.

Pinako reached down, placing her hands on the edge of the quilt. "Winry, be ready," she warned. "Don't waste any time."

She nodded, and then Pinako pulled the blanket back.

And Winry felt her heart stop.

She stood still, eyes wide and terrified, because no matter how many times she saw Edward bleeding or unconscious or bandaged, it always made her think back to the night Al had dragged him in, the dark sticky lifeblood pouring out of where his arm and leg had earlier been. Now, though, he wasn't bandaged or even bleeding. Instead, metal leeches clung to the stump of his leg and the place where his right shoulder would have begun, clinging greedily to the raw skin and pulling at it, making the areas around the ports red and already inflamed.

Winry had thought Edward looked small under the blankets; now, he looked not only small, but so helpless and damaged that her eyes watered and she had to fight the tears that steadily built up as she quickly bent in and covered the ports with the rags, first placing one on his shoulder, then covering the one on his leg. As she put the last rag on, her hand brushed one side of the port, and she bit her lip as at tear trailed down her cheek. She hurriedly lifting her shoulder and wiped it away, hoping her grandmother wouldn't say anything.

As soon as she pulled her hands away, Pinako had the blanket back covering Edward, and then she was watching Winry, making sure she wouldn't break down. She didn't say anything, and Winry nodded, assuring her she would be okay.

But she wasn't. Seeing the metal on his skin, feeling it, had made everything strikingly clear, and it hurt seeing him like this; defenseless, broken. Her stomach was churning, but not in the way that signaled she was sick, and her eyes burned with both tears and exhaustion.

Edward, though he never would have admitted it, screamed for someone to take care of him, to at least try to heal the darkness in his heart, to try to save him from himself. And that was why she was here.

"You alright to stay in here for another hour or so?" Pinako asked softly.

Without even considering it, Winry said, "Yes."

* * *

><p>The older Rockbell woman exited the room a moment later, leaving Winry with the tub of water beside her and the rags already submerged in the water, waiting for when she would need to change them again. Winry looked at the door for a moment, then knelt on the floor and rested her cheek on her hand, elbow on the bed, as she watched Ed's sleeping form. Thankfully, he no longer shivered.<p>

He wouldn't wake up tonight, but would that really be a good thing? She'd heard his nightmares, heard him cry out and scream, voice filled with tears. What if he had one tonight while he slept, and there was nothing she could do for him?

It wouldn't matter, because Alphonse would be in here in a little over and hour to sit with him for the night, and then he would be the one comforting Ed, just like always. Winry smiled slightly at the thought, crossing her arms on the mattress and pressing her forehead onto them, wanting so badly to sleep but trying to keep her eyes open.

She must have dozed off, because the next time she lifted her head, it was ten minutes later than when she'd sat down according to the clock. She forced herself into a sitting position, her eyes stinging with the strain of keeping them wide and alert. _I can't sleep_, she thought, keeping her back straight as she watched Ed. _I have to stay awake_.

From what she could tell, Edward hadn't moved; his right cheek was still pressed into the pillow, his breathing coming deep and steady, lips slightly parted. Winry reached out and pushed a piece of his bangs off of his face, tucking it behind his ear, and smiled.

He really _was _adorable when he slept, but she'd never tell him that. She leaned back over and propped herself up, watching him, sometimes brushing her fingers through his hair.

By the time the smell of the room no longer affected her, she noticed sweat breaking out across his forehead as the fever hit again, this time making him hot, and she pulled the quilt down to where it was just below his shoulders, allowing the air to kiss his skin. Winry was tempted to completely drag the blanket away, but she knew that would be useless, possibly even make his condition worse, so she left him covered even as he continued to sweat. After a few minutes of this, when the sweat was now running down his face, she carefully leaned over him, slightly unsure if this would help in any way but willing to try it, and she blew onto his face, praying that would give him at least some relief.

It seemed to work, because the moisture cooled on his face, even though it didn't stop appearing in fresh beads. She kept this up off and on, pushing his hair back off his forehead, blowing at his hairline, over his cheeks, and, for some reason, enjoying herself and the way she got to listen to him breathing, liking the way he inhaled gently.

Edward was strong; he had been for as long as she'd known him. Still, Winry couldn't help but worry that this would be more than he could handle, too much too fast.

And so she continued, covering him when he grew cold, blowing on his face and neck when the heat took over, the whole time trying to keep herself awake and praying that he would be okay.

Forty-five minutes into her watch and two rags left, she heard Edward mumble, a deep, lethargic sound in his sleep. She jerked up, alert, and she waited, afraid he would either wake up or would start screaming due to some God awful nightmare that attacked him.

He didn't wake, and he didn't scream; instead, a soft moan exited his throat, and he turned his head toward Winry, face scrunched, not in pain, but something deeper than hurt that she wouldn't understand.

He was dreaming, she realized, and she was lost, not sure what to do, if she should go get Alphonse or what. Deciding to wait, she remained where she sat and continued to watch him.

Nothing happened for a few minutes; it seemed the dream had left him be for the moment. His face relaxed and his breathing settled just as the chills took over, and Winry pulled the blanket up to his chin. She looked at the clock, wondering when Granny would come back in, and she once again propped up on her elbows, trying to keep her eyes from slipping shut and failing.

They jerked open when Edward groaned again, a painful little gasp of air that ripped from his throat and tore at her heart, especially when she saw that his face, instead of pulled into pain, was terrified, even in sleep. His bottom lip trembled for a moment and he mumbled again, burrowing his head deeper into the pillow, his eyes quivering.

It was physically painful, seeing him like this, and it came as a shock to Winry when she realized just how much it hurt. Careful to not disturb his healing port, she got on her knees and leaned over him, placing her hand on his hair and brushing through it in what she hoped was a comforting way, her other hand pulling the blanket closer around him. It didn't do good for long though, because he seemed to grow more fretful than before, his little body seizing up and then relaxing, only to lock up again moments later.

Winry was growing steadily more frantic, scared, because she didn't know what to do. Granny could give him more medicine or maybe Al could calm him down and make him feel better and—

A pained little whine, so soft and breathy, locked everything into place, and Winry gasped quietly.

So this was the real reason Pinako had sent her in here: she'd known, somehow, that there would be a time when it would be up to Winry to figure out how to comfort Edward, to make things better. This was her job, her task.

Taking a deep breath that allowed most of the fear to seep out of her body and for the courage she needed to flow in, she placed her hand against his face, cupping one of his soft cheeks and brushing her thumb over it comfortingly. At the contact, Ed gratefully leaned into it, whining again, and then she put her free hand on the other side of his face, stroking over his jaw and forehead, into his hair and down his neck, the whole while watchful of the ports. He breathed in harsh pants, and when Winry pulled one of her hands away to check the rags covering the metal ports, he moaned again, moving his face as if seeking the warmth that had just fled him. She quickly made sure the rags were still warm enough, then put her hand back on his face.

It was strange, to say the least. Strange, but enjoyable. She'd never dreamed of touching his face like this, as a form of comfort, and it made her heart flutter in a somewhat nervous manner. Not worrying when her own hair fell into her face, she focused solely on Ed, brushing his bangs away and stroking over the harsh lines that were his eyebrows, making gentle, soothing sounds when he began to cry out.

After a while though, this wasn't enough, because his face twisted up in something beyond pain, and he pushed himself farther into her hands until he was against her shoulder, hot tears leaking out from his tightly closed eyes and running down his cheeks.

Winry took a deep intake of breath as her eyes glazed over with tears of her own, and then her hands were back to soothing, one on his face and the other cradling the back of his head, whispering soft words that she wasn't even sure were coherent. "Shhh, it's okay, Ed, it's all okay. You're fine, and Al's fine. Shhh, just sleep."

A hitching sob shook his frame and Winry held him closer, putting as little pressure on him as possible, resting her head on his as her tears finally spilled over.

Edward should never be like this. He was the tough one, the one that never cried, brave and arrogant and confident and so annoying at times that he made her want to kill him. But then he could be nice, but only when he wanted to be, and that always made up for the times she felt like bashing his skull in. He was strong; he didn't need protecting, and he would tell that to anyone who tried to say otherwise.

But, right now, he _did _need a shield, someone to take care of him, and that was Winry.

"Al," Ed's voice cried softly, his face in the crook of her neck, and then he called out for Al again, a desperate sob and plea, the sound tearing at Winry's soul.

She buried her face in his hair to muffled her own tears. "Hey, it's alright," she whispered soothingly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Al's safe, and you are too, and he loves you." She felt his tears soaking into the surgical dress she wore, and she continued to pet his hair. "He loves you so much Ed."

He hiccupped harshly, still calling for Al, but also for someone Winry had heard him scream for earlier, and that was why she'd had to leave the room: "Mom," he wailed softly, sobbing even harder.

Winry's throat was so clogged that she could barely speak. "She loves you too. Your mom loves you, Ed." Her fingers were gently wiping over his cheek, pushing the hair that stuck to his face away, while her other hand move to his good shoulder so she could hold him better. "It's okay, sweetheart. Sleep," she said, voice hitching only slightly as her tears began to lessen.

Edward hiccupped again, but he seemed to calm down; he didn't move though, his body still relaxed against Winry's, and he turned his face more into her shoulder. She kept her hand on his head, stroking through his hair the whole time, now smiling because she was _holding him_, Edward of all people. And she liked it, liked him needing her, even if he wouldn't remember any of this when he woke. Still, she couldn't get how naturally calling him 'sweetheart' had come to her.

The door squeaked open behind Winry, and she looked over her shoulder to see Al leaning in, and, for some reason, her cheeks grew warm, almost like she was embarrassed to be caught with Edward cradled in her arms and her hands in his hair. She brushed it off though as she watched him, saw the way he stood, like he was asking for permission. "Come on," she mouthed, taking the next few moments to begin placing Edward back the way he'd been laying. She moved carefully and slowly, and when she lifted Ed up from her neck and shoulder, she couldn't help but smile at his weak whine of disappointment.

"Let me or Granny know if you need anything," she told Alphonse softly, taking one last moment to touch Ed's cheek, then pulling her hand back.

And so quiet that most people would have missed it but loud enough to draw Winry's attention, she heard Edward mumble softly, "Winry."

She froze, wondering how he could still be asleep and calling her name but knowing he somehow was. Cautiously, she put her hand back on his cheek, and he sighed softly, leaning into it. "Winry."

Her eyes were wide in amazement, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but she tried to keep it contained. Taking her hand back and glancing at Edward once more, she stood up and face Al, giving him a slight smile. From the way he watched her, even without a real human face, she could tell he'd heard.

"This is our secret," she said softly, and he chuckled.

"Okay."

Winry stood in the door for just a moment, watching as Alphonse sat beside Ed's bed, and then she shut the door softly. Once she was alone in the hall, she pressed her back against the door and found herself grinning like an idiot.

Because Edward had called for her in his sleep.

Which meant he thought about her more than he led on.


	8. Reassurance

**And now, Story Eight is up! Yay! Actually, I've had this one done for a while, but I'm pacing myself and waiting at least two weeks before updates. I've got to say, I really love this one, one reason being because I enjoyed writing it so much (I really loved doing the imagery in this one) and another being that a good portion of this story consists of flashbacks (the italicized words) and I enjoyed writing like that. It's also my longest one in the **Little Wonders** series so far! I got the line that goes along with Story Eight from an Alison Krause & Union Station song, "When You Say Nothing At All", and that really just came to me as I'm writing this; I think it fits Ed and Winry :) Enjoy and review, and thanks for still reading!**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

><p><strong>Story Eight: Reassurance<strong>

_...Because she can understand what he's saying when he says nothing at all..._

* * *

><p>It was a tranquil night, one that was not dimmed by a covering of black clouds, but filled with small points of light, stars and planets, that were sprinkled across the velvet sky, the moon casting a pale, iridescent glow over the earth. There was no wind blowing, but the air was cold with winter, and Edward sat on the roof, back against the chimney, the heat from the smoke that the fire cast up warming his back. Head resting against the heated flue and breaths coming in silver puffs, Ed stared out over the darkened land, able to make out trees and hills, the dim lights that represented the houses and barns glowing in the distance. And, although it was indistinguishable even with the light from the moon flooding down over everything, he knew exactly where his old home was.<p>

He hadn't set foot in that house in five months, not since last September; not since the Transmutation.

To put in blankly, Edward was on the roof as to avoid the other inhabitants of the Rockbell home, emotionally unable to handle their inquiring glances and awkward silences, the question that seemed to race through the color of their eyes and the way their silences stretched out, piercing his heart like a knife: How much longer can you keep this up?

Honestly, he didn't know. He had thought he knew, but that was before today, and right now, he wasn't so sure he _could _handle the burden he himself had unintentionally placed on his shoulders.

_It wasn't even a big deal_, he lied, lifting his knees and crossing his arms over them, resting his cheek on the cold material of his long sleeve shirt, eyes closing. He'd been outside for over two hours now, alone and in silent cogitation, and no one had disturbed him, a wise move on their parts. Even Alphonse had left him be, either knowing his brother well enough to let him alone or he too scared to be around Ed right now; he wished it was the first reason.

A hallucination. That was the basis of the query to resurface, if it had even ever left their minds to begin with. It hadn't even been a hallucination really, just a trick of the eye, and while Edward found himself continuously repeating that it was nothing significant, just as he'd done for most of the time he'd been out in the cold, the dark truth of the matter gradually settled over his being that it was, if fact, of grave importance to the next few months of his and Al's life, and even their future.

* * *

><p><em>Edward was in the living room of the Rockbell home, sprawled out across the couch, immersed in, surprisingly, a book that wasn't based on alchemy; an actual novel, one he had snuck from Winry's room earlier in the day. In desperate need of something to do and not quite yet willing to venture into town and be forced to put up with the stares of his neighbors, he'd scanned titles and flipped through the pages of paperbacks on her bookshelf, searching for something of worth, only to be surprised that most of the books she possessed <em>did _interest him to some degree, and he'd finally settled on a historical novel that had so much description he could barely keep up at times, and he wondered if Winry could do better with the book._

_Now, hours since he'd first began the book and already through the first two hundred pages or so, with Den sleeping soundly by the couch, he heard the front door rattle, then open, and then footsteps across floor. He didn't look up from the page he was on, already knowing who it was, but found himself wondering why she wasn't getting home until almost five._

_For a reason Edward couldn't comprehend, Winry had actually wanted to go back to school, even after her grandmother had told her she didn't have to; as a student of automail, most of her time would be devoted to perfecting the art of crafting metal and implanting wires, but Winry had surprised everyone when she'd asked if she could continue her schooling. Edward couldn't imagine why; school was a waste of time, since he knew most of the math and science equations, the history of the country, and once he'd realized he was being taught things he already knew, any fondness for school he'd had vanished. Apparently, though, Winry still enjoyed classes, always eager to learn more about anything possible. _

_Edward silently suspected that one reason she went back was to return to her life some sense of the normality it had possessed before the last few months._

_She leaned in to the den, smiling, her backpack thrown over one shoulder and her hair pulled into a neat ponytail, dressed in a simple blue dress with a gray turtleneck beneath, black stockings covering her legs and brown boots on her feet. Her nose was red from the cold, eyes bright with excitement and delight, and Edward could tell she was just bubbling to spill whatever was building up within her._

"_Hey," she said, nothing very significant about her tone, except that Edward could tell she was trying to keep herself under control, and he smiled crookedly at her but didn't say anything yet. He sat up, placing the book cover side up on the couch so that he wouldn't lose his place._

"_Good day?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be._

_If possible, her smile spread even wider across her face so that it was almost like she was shining, and she gave a giggle and nodded, then walked in the room and stood in front of him, leaning down to pet the now awake dog, then rocked back on her heels. She had a set of papers rolled up in her hand. "Guess what?" she asked, just waiting for him to do as she had told him._

_Edward, not one for guessing games, frowned slightly, but played along anyway. "What?"_

"_You are looking at one of the leads in a play!" she said, flashing her teeth in a wide smile, her eyes dancing with thrill._

_Sadly, the impact the news had on Edward was to the opposite effect that Winry had been hoping for; he stared at her, scrutinizing, eyebrows cocked and an 'are you serious?' look on his face. _

_A play. Really? That was all?_

"_Um, wow," he muttered, not in the least impressed. "That's great and all, but why?"_

_Over the course of the following moments after she had finally revealed her rewarding information, Winry's expression had fallen slowly and steadily, until it was barely even a smile, her eyes no longer blinking with light. Edward, however, was unusually oblivious today, or maybe it was just the fact that she quickly pulled a halfhearted smile back to her face, then rolled her eyes and flashed him a somewhat annoyed look. She knew better than to expect much of him._

"_Because, idiot, I wanted to. It's fun."_

"_How?"_

"_Hmm." Ed watched as she looked upward, thinking, tongue flicking out the side of her mouth like it did when she was caught up in something, and, for some reason, he found himself staring. "I guess," she began, pulling Edward from his curious undertaking of staring at her so intently, "it's because when you're acting, you make the character. You're a different person, not yourself."_

_Whether her answer was supposed to be so philosophical or not, it caused Edward to be pulled into a deep thought, one that intrigued and worried him at the same time. Acting was a part, becoming someone else and creating their personality and traits, shedding your own skin and sliding into another one, a fresh one. You could be anyone. But, for a reason that would normally have seemed absurd to him, Ed felt himself grow somewhat anxious and unsure._

_Did Winry really want to become another complete entity, to have a different life, one free of worry and pain and anguish, one without worrying over two reckless, idiotic brothers who had screwed everything up? Did she secretly want a life without him?_

_For the most part, he was able to push down this dread to where it was nothing more than an afterthought in the back of his mind; still present, just diminished. _

"_Really?" he asked, his tone betraying nothing of the way he had felts just seconds ago. "That's cool, I guess."_

_She huffed, a terribly cute sound that Edward should not have found cute in the slightest and that disturbed him even more than the brooding thoughts still residing in his skull. "Whatever," she said, turning away, but she wasn't mad, not really, he could tell that. She spun slowly, elegantly, hypnotically, in a circle, almost like she was dancing, and she whirled herself to the doorway, and when she turned back to face Ed, he saw her eyes were closed and she was smiling slightly, serene and carefree for the moment. Then she opened her eyes and grinned again, his lack of enthusiasm unable to deter her good mood. "I've got to go tell Granny now. At least she'll be excited." _

_Though the last few words she had said could have been taken harshly, they weren't delivered so, instead almost like she was making fun of Ed's tactlessness. She gave him another smile, and then, of all things, winked, and disappeared._

_Edward blinked, eyes rounder than usual, surprised at her good mood. Then he laughed, scratching absently at the back of his head. Winry was usually happy and smiling, but not ecstatically so, and today she was._

_And he liked seeing her like this._

* * *

><p><em>When he came into the kitchen several minutes later, Den at his heels, Winry was standing at Pinako's side, the old woman holding in her hand the papers Winry had been carrying; a script, Edward realized. She talked animatedly to her grandmother, then to Al, and Alphonse simply listened to whatever she said, commenting often, his voice revealing that he was, in fact, happy for her and interested.<em>

_Edward leaned over the old woman's shoulder, glancing down at the script. "So, who're you?" he asked, looking up at Winry, trying to make up for earlier by being a little interested now. Actually, since her words about becoming another person, he was more involved than he normally would have been._

_She put her pointer finger to the white paper, placing it on a name. "I'm Odile. I'm the villain."_

_He looked up, amazed that she could be cast as a bad guy of all things, having pictured her as some frilly little princess or some crap like that. "You? How did _that _happen?"_

"_I auditioned," she said, thumping her finger to his forehead, and he flicked her hand away impatiently._

"_Not that. I mean, how did you get cast as the bad guy. You're all…"_

_Winry cocked an eyebrow. "I'm what?"_

_That was a good question, because Edward didn't even know what to say. The word _sweet_ popped into his head, but there was no way he'd ever tell her that, and he settled for a simple shrug, murmuring, "Nothing, I guess. You're just you."_

_She watched him for a moment, her annoyance changing into curiosity and surprise at his statement, but she let the subject drop. "Anyway," she began after a moment of silence, which involved Pinako and Alphonse looking from one to the other, "I'm the evil twin, and Cassidy's the good one, Odette. I'm jealous of her or something, so I end up trying to get the prince she falls in love with to love me, and I try to kill her."_

"_That's…not you at all," Alphonse commented, his voice amazed and amused at the same time._

"_Exactly," Winry said, smiling at him. "I didn't want be a character that's a lot like me, so I tried out for Odile and got the part."_

_Pinako looked up at Winry, smiling through the pipe in her teeth. "Congratulations. I know you're gonna work really hard, so you better do your best."_

_Winry blushed. "Of course I am, Granny."_

"_Good." The old woman handed the script back to Winry, still smiling, and then she stood up from her chair and stretched, muttering about needing to start on supper, then directing a question to Winry. "When is the play?"_

"_At the beginning of March," she said, shoving the papers in her bag, which, now that Edward was looked closely, seemed awfully full. "But they already have a lot of things ready. We haven't started working on the scenery yet, but the costumes are already done."_

"_That was fast," Al said._

"_I know. The audition was almost two weeks ago, and they measured us then, so Ms. Kirkland and Mrs. Marie already had the costumes ready by today."_

"_So that's what's in your bag," Edward observed, poking at the backpack._

_She nodded, pulling it back up from the table and onto her back, then walking toward the hall as to go to her room upstairs. "I'm gonna go try it on," she called over her shoulder, "so you guys will have to tell me how I look."_

"_Isn't that the director's job?" asked Granny._

"_Well, yeah, but you guys are family and your opinion counts too."_

"_What's it look like?"_

_Winry laughed. "You'll have to see."_

_Edward didn't pick up on the remaining conversation, not after Winry's statement: 'you guys are family'. Not only Pinako, but him and Al as well. Of course he knew she thought of them as family, just as she was, in some ways, the same to him, but hearing her say it so naturally and without reservation made something catch in his chest, but he wasn't sure what, or whether it was in a good way or a bad way._

"_You know you boys can go, if you want to," Pinako said quietly, catching both of the Elric's attention._

_Yes, they could go. But then there would be the questions and dark looks, people especially watching Alphonse, and Edward wouldn't have people staring at his little brother like some kind of freak. "Maybe," he said softly, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring down at the one made of automail and knowing 'maybe' meant 'no', just as Pinako did._

_The woman smiled sadly, but didn't let either of the brothers see._

_Edward had heard Winry tromp up the stairs just moments ago, and then he heard her flying back down, feet pounding the wood, and she was leaning in the kitchen, looking directly at him. "I forgot to tell you. Happy early birthday."_

_Edward had nearly forgotten that it was, in fact, February eighteenth, and tomorrow he'd be turning twelve. He hadn't even thought much about birthdays the last few months, what with all the automail rehab and nightmares that still occasionally slipped into his sleep, but, of course, Winry would remember, as did Alphonse probably._

"_Yeah, you're going to be twelve, Brother," Al said, answering the question Edward had just thought of, and he looked over at Alphonse, trying not to think about what his brother's next birthday would be like; would there even be a difference? He managed to smile slightly at his little brother, and then he looked back at Winry._

"_Aren't we a little old for that?" he asked, no venom in his voice, just plain interest as he wondered how long they really could be young._

"_You're never too old for anything." She smiled, and before Ed could argue with her statement, she asked, "So, does strawberry sound good?"_

_Not one to refuse any type of sweet, he smiled at the thought of cake and the fact that she'd asked if it was fine when they all knew it was his favorite. "Yeah. Vanilla frosting."_

_She nodded dramatically. "Got it." _

_And then she was running up the stairs again, her laughter trailing in her wake._

"_She's really in a good mood today," Al mused, carefully resting a metal elbow on the table._

"_Winry's just happy she got the part. You boys probably haven't noticed, but she's been reading lines in her room for days." Pinako washed her hands at the sink, then turned to the oven and put it on preheat. "She's worked really hard."_

_Edward's mouth pulled up lopsidedly, and he said, quiet enough that neither Pinako or Al could hear over the racket the old woman was now making, "Then I'm glad she got it."_

* * *

><p><em>The dinner Pinako had begun cooking fifteen minutes ago smelt heavenly when Edward walked back into the kitchen, he heard his stomach make a rumbling sound as he wished it was time to eat. He pulled a seat up beside his brother, propped his automail leg up in the neighboring chair, and threw his head back, eyes closed.<em>

"_Tired of reading?" Al teased._

_That statement didn't exist in Edward's vocabulary, and he looked up from under his lashes, smiling with his eyes. "Nah, my mind's just too full to concentrate on anything."_

"_Full of what?"_

"_Well, everything." He bent down to scratch Den behind the ears, and the dog leaned into his touch._

"_Please be specific, Brother."_

_Edward grinned as he imagined the look Alphonse would have been giving him if he'd had an actual face and not the mask of the armor, a mixture of a smile and slight exasperation, then continued, "Okay then. For one thing, my birthday's tomorrow."_

"_Yeah."_

"_I just…I don't know. I feel like everything's going by way too slow, but it's also really fast. You know?"_

_Alphonse nodded, and Edward found he didn't even cringe at the sound of metal scraping metal anymore, a great achievement. "Yeah, I get it."_

_They sat for a moment, watching Pinako and thinking about different things or just doing nothing in particular but sitting, the sounds of cooking food popping in the air._

"_Anything else?" Al asked quietly._

_Edward felt his mouth tighten, and then he was thinking about Winry again and those silly words she'd said that, for some reason, impacted him so much. In all honesty, and he wasn't the least embarrassed to admit it, he really, really hoped she didn't want to become someone else, because that could mean she would disappear one day, and he wouldn't allow that no matter what. Softly, low so that Pinako couldn't hear, he asked, "Is this good for her?"_

"_Who? Oh, Winry," Alphonse said when he saw the way Edward looked at him. "What do you mean?"_

"_We came in and messed everything up and put all this on her, and you know Winry; if something bothers her she won't ever say anything to us. It just seems like since we messed up, we're screwing everything up for her. She's always worrying about us and…I don't know. Maybe we just aren't good for her." _

_Edward was amazed at all of the feelings that had poured out of him, and even more so of the fact that he had let them. He'd never really talked to Al about any of this, and now it was out in the open where he could judge, and Ed wasn't sure if he was just being stupid or if his suspicions were accurate._

_He looked up nervously at Alphonse. "We _are _good for her, aren't we?" he asked uncertainly, sounding very young, even to his own ears. _

_Before Al could say anything, a somewhat harsh and partly amused, gruff voice said, "You're an idiot."_

_Edward jerked to see Pinako watching him, her mouth pulled into something that was either a frown or a smile or both. She leaned against the counter, a spoon in hand, and she said, "Besides myself, you two are the only family that girl has. You make her happy. So don't think you're bad for her, because you're not. And besides, if you ever tried to leave and never come back, she'd probably kill you."_

_Ed blinked, her words repeating in his head, and then he gave her a grateful smile, for once glad that she had ears like a bat. "Yeah. Thanks, Granny."_

_The old woman grinned, said nothing else, and turned back to her supper._

_A sound that echoed laughter exited the armor next to Edward. "You know," Alphonse said, "maybe we shouldn't worry for a while about anything. Try to, at least."_

_Edward didn't get a chance to answer, because at that moment, her heard the bathroom door open and footsteps on the floor, making a weird, slithery soft sound, not like socked feet, but more like ballet slippers. "Okay, I'm ready!" Winry called, and Edward understood that she probably was wearing the strange shoes as part of her costume. "Everyone ready?"_

_Pinako chuckled, turned the heat off to let dinner simmer, and then walked over to stand beside Al. "Yes," she called back. _

_Edward stood up, smirking slightly. He couldn't wait to see how she looked, whether she was a witch or some ugly old hag since she was the villain, or maybe even some beautiful seductress. He rolled his eyes at the last one; Winry, a seductress?_

_Instead of anything he had imagined, a dark, shadowy figure slid into the room and stared straight at them._

_The thing that stood before Edward was pale, unnaturally so, wrapped in blackness, and he felt his heart to turn to ice and crash to the floor, shattering, at the sight of it._

_Because he had _seen _the damned thing before._

_It was alive, a phantasm reborn of a nightmare, with tangled midnight hair that seemed to hang grotesquely around its face and down to its waist, rotted black seaweed. Clothed in darkness, its joints stuck out at misshapen angles, bones twisted and gnarled, the fingers on its hands like snapped twigs, and, as it moved, it seemed to slither, its movements crawl like, feet caked in clotted blood and members streaked with black veins, decaying flesh hanging loosely to bones. Thin shouldered and frail, in reality, it actually possessed the strength to asphyxiate him, just as it had done before in the dreams where it had once resided, distorted hands becoming like a vise around his neck. It moved again, not any closer, but the movement was undeniable, and it's mouth unhinged, chapped, broken lips moving on words that refused to immerge up from its rattling chest, lungs sick filled with fluid and infection. Festering skin and decomposition radiated from its body and flooded his nostrils, made him gag. Eyes like engorged membranes placed far back in the head, tears of black blood ran down the angular cheeks, coating the skin beneath its hollow eyes, eyes that, if he had been in his right mind, would have appeared blue instead of the inhuman scarlet that he saw._

_Edward was breathing in shallow, achy pants, cold sweat coating his forehead, the hairs on the back of his neck raised as he stared at the monster in absolute horror._

_It should be dead. Granny had killed it, right? It shouldn't be here!_

_It was what he had brought to life; it had been born, killed, then born again of his memory, and now it was here, watching him with wide, vengeful eyes, mouth moving._

_Every fiber in Ed's body was screaming for escape, for him to run, to get anywhere as long as that _thing _didn't follow him, couldn't follow, and he felt his real leg shaking beneath him, barely able to support the weight of a steadily growing limp body. The taste of metallic saliva ran down the back of his throat and pooled into led in his stomach; fear. Shoulders quivering, he took a step back on his automail leg, hand going behind him to the table for anything, a knife, a fork, anything he could use as a weapon._

_It was really alive, and it was going to kill him, just as he had condemned it to death by giving it life._

_The creature slithered forward, leaving a trail of blood in its wake, and one of the inhumanly thin arms raised up from its side, a black hand spattered and dripping with blood reaching out for him._

_Any notion of defense fled his mind and a scream, so wild and feral that it could have been mistaken for a beast, left Ed's lungs and entered the world, and then he was moving, moving so quickly that it shouldn't be able to keep up; it was supposed to be slow, but it wasn't, keeping its rotting gaze directly on his face, on his eyes. It moved, so much swifter than he had ever thought possible, and reached for him again._

"_NO!" Edward screamed, flinging his back against a wall, knocking into a chair and sending it toppling over, like a fallen tower. "No, get away! GET AWAY NOW!"_

_And then there were more hands, touching his shoulders, his hair, his back; it had more hands, more limbs. Ed lifted his own, trying to rip the appendages from his body, but the blood was already soaking into his shirt and staining his skin and hair, seeping into his soul, and he pulled himself even farther against the wall to where he was in a corner, small body twisting into a ball, burying his face in his knees, eyes shut against the phantom, and clamping his hands so tightly over his ears that it felt like his own red blood would begin oozing out from them any minute now._

_He felt fingers touch his cheek, and a sob exited his throat, but he didn't even care anymore because all he could think about was that he was dying and he had no clue where Alphonse was. He jerked away from the hand, putting his back to the creature, and then, so loud and broken that no one would ever had expected it to come from Edward Elric, he screamed, "ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"_

"_Edward!" _

_A sound, skin on skin, and then a sharp pain blossomed across his face; a slap. Hands were on his shoulders pulling him into a sitting position, firm and real and, thankfully, not covered in coagulated blood and decaying skin. They were wrinkled and small, an old woman's, and when Edward finally dared to look into the face of the one who supported his weight, he saw Pinako Rockbell, her eyes narrowed and mouth pulled into a tight line. A dog barked loudly at her side; Den._

_He was shaking, hard, and a strange, ripping sound was breaking out of his chest. His hands came up, gripping at the material of her apron. _

"_Edward, it's alright, it's fine," the woman said, a hand rubbing over his back as the broken, raspy sounds continued to exit his frame, until they finally began to turn into words, and he was looking at her with wild golden eyes._

"_Granny, where is it? Where's Al? Granny, where's Alphonse?" he asked, almost hysterically, voice fracturing and high._

"_Hush, child, he's fine. He's right here."_

_Somehow, maybe because he was his brother, Edward could sense that Alphonse was, in fact, right beside him, but he didn't look away from Pinako. "Where'd it go?" he asked again, eyes suddenly beginning to dart around the room, looking for blood and decay and gaping jaws and bloody tears and—_

_And he saw a little girl, clad in a black dress and tights, face sheet white and blue eyes wide and terrified, a black wig lying limp on the floor._

_For the first few moments, Edward stared at her, eyes still slightly crazed, as he tried to figure out who she was, his mind still too muddled to put memories and faces together._

_She moved, just enough that a long blonde ponytail flashed, and then he realized it was Winry._

_Winry stood across the room, away from him and Al and her grandmother and Den, the gap between large and painfully evident. She watched Edward with large eyes, her pupils pinpoints, miniscule islands in the oceans of color they swam in, and her hands shook, her back against the wall opposite him. _

_Edward, still unable to comprehend what had just happened, watched her, breath coming more evenly now even as he still continued to lightly quake. "W…Winry?" he asked, so soft and raspy that there was no way she should have been able to hear._

_But she did, and he saw her tremble even harder, and then her eyes grew shiny with tears that she forbade to fall. She opened her mouth and said in a voice so pain filled and anguished, "I'm sorry. I…I didn't know…I didn't know…"_

_Didn't know what?_

_He looked at the wig, a quick movement, then back to Winry, noticing for the first time the black makeup that was smeared beneath her eyes, making the blue orbs look even larger._

_And then the meaning of what she was saying hit him and Edward realized he had mistaken Winry, dressed in her costume of black, for the monster he and Al had created._

_His breath hitched in his chest and his own eyes grew dangerously wet as he sat there, watching this girl who meant more to him than anyone except Alphonse back up even farther. How had he ever mistaken her, a gothic angel, for that thing? Now that he could see clearly, there was no comparison, especially since the wig had fallen off in the process of trying to calm him. She was still the same girl, only clothed in the harsh, morbid color of mourning, making her look even fairer than she was. Winry was nothing like the black monster with see through skin and spiny veins, gnarled bones and swollen joints. There was no comparison._

_So why had Edward seen her as that thing? _

_Still clinging to Pinako with one hand, the other reached up to Winry, begging for forgiveness and willing to suffer any punishment she would make him endure, if only she would forgive him. "W-winry."_

_The tears in her eyes finally spilled down her face, and then she was crying, the black charcoal running over her cheeks in streaks, like black blood tears, only they didn't scare Edward but made his throat grow thick and caused his eyes to burn, cloud over with a fine mist. Unable to say anything else, she shook her head, just once, and ran from the room._

_And something broke in Edward's chest; maybe what was left of his fragile heart._

* * *

><p>It was getting colder. Edward, shivering against the icy air, sat up, a hand gripping at his hair in an aggravated manner, and he threw his head back to rest against the chimney, looking across the shingles of the roof. Knowing that he would had vomited after what he had seen if he'd eaten, he was glad he hadn't, but that had been an hour ago, and now his stomach was tight with hunger pains. He still couldn't believe just how much the bloody corpse scared him, how it still made him feel so small and broken and utterly terrified, and he hated himself for his fear. How could he ever move on if that thing still haunted him? Better yet, how could he protect Alphonse when he himself was always being tortured?<p>

Still, his hatred for his own fear was nothing compared to the loathing, gut wrenching, chest aching sensation he got every time he remembered Winry's face, all wide eyes and tears and fright, her body language screaming detachment.

What he had done…seeing Winry, his Winry of all people, as the soulless nightmare, was unforgivable on his part. She had fled, too repulsed by him and his weaknesses, and had left him dejected and, in some sense, crushed. And he didn't blame her for her aversion, her horror, because _he _was the monster for ever having thought she was anything but her wholly good self.

It would be completely understandable if she hated him now; natural, even. Still, as he turned his face up to the sky and closed his eyes, brows furrowed and lips only just beginning to tremble for the first time in hours, he really wished she didn't.

Because he needed her.

It was freaking _cold_.

The sound of a latch unlocking pulled his eyes open, and he heard the two oversized windows that looked out over the balcony of the house open, and, without actually seeing anybody, he knew Winry was outside, having left her room. Edward listened to her as she moved, hearing her movements change from footsteps to shuffles. A shingle scraped, a hand came over the edge of the roof, and he realized Winry was climbing up.

If he had been a gentleman and also not in the dark, fragile mood he was in, he would have helped her get up. Instead, he watched as an arm appeared, then another, and then she was visible from the shoulders up, heaving her body onto the roof in a way that held grace and yet was still clumsy. She pulled her legs over the side, and then she was sitting there, huffing just a little, breaths appearing in tiny white puffs.

So she had finally braved coming up to confront him. He sat motionless, frozen by fear that came from deep within, and he was forced to watch her, waiting to see what she would do.

When Winry looked at him, he was surprised to see how disheveled she looked. Her hair was free of its tress and hung limply down her shoulders, bangs messy, and she had scrubbed the makeup from under her eyes, eyes that were still slightly red rimmed from crying. They were very dark in the night, looking almost black, but it didn't scare him anymore; he knew they were really blue, and if she got close enough, he would be able to see the sparkles of moonlight reflecting in them.

What amazed him the most was that she didn't look at him with pity or fear or even abhorrence; she just looked very tired and sad.

Winry stood up carefully, then took the few steps toward Edward, and as she moved, he had time to notice she was carrying something, a coat, and then she was standing a few feet to his left, watchful of the dips in the roof.

Even if he couldn't see it, he knew she must feel hatred and disappointment, and he didn't want her to feel those things toward him, any of that. If she hated him, what could he do to fix it, to make things right again? Had they ever even really been right?

He didn't want her looking at him with those big, mesmerizing eyes, didn't want her giving him that tiny trace of a smile, but some part deep within his heart craved it, every word and look she would say and give. But Edward wasn't one for tender emotion, and even when he was overflowing with it, the words that almost always came out of his mouth were gruff and harsh and mocking.

He looked away from her, back over the darkness that was Resembool. "What do you want?" he asked, voice low.

He wouldn't look at her, now matter how much he wanted to. No matter what.

"It's getting really cold," Winry said softly, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Really?" he asked sarcastically. "I hadn't noticed."

She didn't rise to the bait. "You're freezing, aren't you? Here."

Finally, he did look at Winry, only to see her reaching out, a blue coat in her hand, smile lopsided, the moon casting a white glow on her eyes, thick lashes discernable even in the night. There was no malice in her gaze or actions, only a gentle apology that, for some reason, Edward couldn't quite understand, and he took for the shame he knew she must feel for him.

He gave her a sickly sweet smile, one that was curved up in a twisted way, and barked out a hard laugh. "You really think that'll help? Look, I don't need anything, so just go tell Granny not to try." He rolled his eyes at her, looking away once again.

He had nearly stopped, tempted to tell her he was sorry, when her eyes had widened and her smile vanished, face pulling into a rejected mask. He had looked away before finishing, so he didn't see the last bit of her expression.

She was still standing there after several moments of silence, and Edward finally snarled, "Go away."

And then a voice, steely and intense, cracked over him like a whip. "I was the one who wanted to bring you this, you jerk."

Edward, eyes growing larger, looked up into Winry's face, her eyes stormy and like ice. She wasn't exactly frowning, but her mouth was pulled into a tight line, and she glared down at him. She looked imposing, but at the same time, her eyes were swimming, like she was about to cry.

Something caught in his chest at the sight, her words sinking in, but before he could even try to think about apologizing, Winry had turned away from him and was walking back the way she had come. After a moment, though, she stopped, as if contemplating something, and then, without looking at him, threw the coat at his feet.

_Oh God_, Ed realized. _She's leaving. _She was leaving, the fact that he had just double screwed everything screaming through his mind, and she wasn't going to come back, wasn't going to try to make things better again, because she just had, and he'd turned her away, cast off her words and kindness. But Winry couldn't leave; she had always been there, even when he didn't want her and told himself she wasn't needed, always around to give him a smile or to hit him, to simply listen to him when he talked. A heavy, immense weight settled in his chest and stomach. She couldn't leave, right? She wasn't allowed to leave him! Because if she did, then that would mean she didn't—

"Wait," Edward called quietly, voice breaking, a hand flying up for her even though she was out of reach.

Winry stiffened, and then slowly, she turned to look over at him, wary, her bottom lip slightly jutting out, no longer the fierce seraph she had just been; now she was Winry, the girl he'd grown up with, the one that still terrified and mystified him at the same time. She waited.

Edward swallowed. "Come back," he said softly, hand still lifted toward her, and then it was his turn to wait and see what she would do.

She stared at him for a second, eyes unreadable, her expression caught between indecision, and for a moment, Ed was afraid that she really would leave him. But then she sighed, closing her eyes and nodding, and she slowly made her way back to him.

There was a relieved, somewhat fluttery feeling in his chest as he watched her walk back to him, pick up the coat and hand it to him, then sit down, the space between them small but obviously there. That didn't matter though, because she had actually come back, and now she was looking straight ahead, slender arms wrapped around her knees.

"So?" she asked, voice still holding a slightly biting edge, but seeing Edward so broken had tremendously softened her.

Sliding the coat on, Ed swallowed, uncomfortable, then looked down at his knees. Here she was, and he couldn't even get the damned words to come out of his mouth. He swallowed again, and, instead of what he'd been trying to say, asked, "Are you okay?"

She looked at him, exhaled deeply. Something about the way she held her mouth signaled she was trying not to smile, and she simply answering his question. "Yeah. Are you?"

"Sure."

He could see from the corner of his eyes that she was still watching him, and he heard her catch on air, like she was about to say something else, then she was looking away again, pulling locks of hair through her hands.

Edward hated that he was so weak, so afraid, that he couldn't even apologize, couldn't face the fact that she might not forgive him. So he sat there, silent, and stared out into black while she pensively pulled on her hair.

Winry didn't deserve any of this. She'd lost her parents, and then he and Alphonse had gone and done something as stupid as Haman Transmutation, him losing his arm and leg and Al his entire body, then entrusting her and her grandmother with the job of making him new automail limbs. And he hadn't even said thank you, not once.

Pinako had been wrong; when he really thought about it, Winry didn't deserve to have this load placed upon her, and he didn't deserve to have Winry. She was good and kind and so much of a better person the he was, graceful and caring and smart, funny when she wasn't trying to be and a pain in the butt when she wanted to be, but she was his pain in the butt and he—

"I'm sorry," she admitted quietly, and when Edward jerked his eyes up, she wasn't looking at him, eyes instead focused on her hands.

"…What?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen," she said, moving her gaze from her hands to his, the hand of automail. They were sad eyes, filled with emotion, and they ate at his heart because it was his fault they were so remorseful. "I didn't know it would. But it's still my fault, so…" She looked up him, smiling apologetically, sadly. "I'm sorry."

Without even thinking, Edward had his flesh hand on her head, gently messing her hair up even further, and a strangled laugh, one that was actually real, exited his lips. "You really think it's your fault?" he asked, smiling softly.

At the contact of his hand, Winry had frozen, and she watched him, blinking quickly in an amazed way. She allowed him to keep his hand on her head, and asked breathlessly, "Isn't it?"

Edward sighed, hand stilling, and he gave her a smile that he rarely gave anyone, one that was gentle and fond and very sincere. "No, it's not."

"But, why?"

"It's my fault. I overreacted, that's all."

"Still," she argued, "if I'd known it would have bothered you, I wouldn't have come in."

He rolled his eyes, lifting his hand to pat her head and watching as she cringed lightly against the action. "I already told you, stupid. It's. Not. Your. Fault." He pulled his hand away, crossing it over his chest and looking steadily at her. "So don't worry about it."

For a moment, he didn't think Winry would believe him; she simply sat there, unmoving and staring. Finally, though, she nodded, giving him a smile that began repairing something in his chest, glued it back together, until it was almost like it had never been broken in the first place. He liked this feeling, even if it was confusing.

They sat quietly for a little while, and even though the space between them was still present, it didn't feel as vast.

He looked over at her, noticing for the first time a small smear of black under her right eye, a place she had missed while scrubbing her face. He lifted his hand, thumb to her cheekbone, and rubbed over the small stain until it was gone, her skin soft and cold under the pad of his finger.

Winry was watching him with large eyes, her mouth hanging open slightly, and Edward looked back at her, confused, as he tried to figure out what was wrong.

That was when he realized what he had just done and that he still hadn't moved his thumb from her cheek.

Ed inhaled sharply, his own eyes growing even larger than hers, and he jerked his hand away and shoved it down between his knees, glaring away from her as he felt himself blush, his face the only part of him that was hot at the moment. "Y-you had something on your face," he stuttered, too embarrassed to look back at her.

Winry was still watching him, her hand moving up and her fingers touching the place where his thumb had just been, and then she quickly lowered them, smiling in a slightly nervous, slightly content way. "Oh. Thanks."

"Whatever."

Quiet took over again, conversation ceasing, and Edward muddled over his thoughts, wondering what in the sake of sanity had ever made him do that and, worst of all, finding himself wanting to do it again.

When Edward's thoughts had finally settled down as much as they would, Winry turned cautiously to him, a question waiting to burst through her lips, and he watched her, waiting. She looked down, then back at him, and asked, "What happened in there?"

Edward's breathing stopped, and once again, he saw the face of that monster, felt its phantom hands touching him, and he tried to fight the shudder that traveled through his body.

Winry missed nothing; her eyes widened and, using her hands for emphasis, shook her head. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. I just…I wanted to know. Sorry."

Ed sighed. "Stop apologizing." He rested his chin on his arms, unable to look at her. Should he really tell her the truth? No, that was impossible; he'd never reveal the darkness to Winry, never allow himself to confide his deepest fears to her. He never even talked about them with Al. So why would he tell her anything?

"Granny didn't tell you, I guess," he began, words coming out even while his mind told him to shut up, but he couldn't, not when he was finally telling her the truth and she was listening, "but when we tried to bring Mom back, something else came instead; maybe it was her, I don't know. It was barely alive, already dying as soon as it was born. It didn't even look like a person. But it was alive, for a moment, and it looked at me."

When he did look at her, Winry was watching him with very reflective eyes, her expression remorseful and pain filled, grief because of what they had gone through, what they had seen. She looked like she wanted to touch him, to reach out and put her hand on his, but he could tell she was trying her best not to, and he was grateful for that. "So, that's why." He looked away once again before he ended up actually letting her hold his hand.

She was silent, and Edward wasn't able to look back at her, afraid that her eyes would grow even more pitiful or even fill with revulsion. He had never told anyone this, letting Alphonse handle it instead, which resulted in everyone knowing to some extent what had happened, even Mustang; all except for Winry, who he had purposely left in the dark, out of knowledge, to keep her from worrying and knowing one of his deepest fears for as long as he could. But he had finally told her, and he felt fear swell up within him, along with the apology that he still hadn't been able to say to her.

And then a small hand, cold and pale, was on his head, fingers soft in his hair, and Winry was petting him.

For some reason, this was even more personal than words could have been, an immense action that made Edward's breath catch and caused him to shiver, but not at her cold fingers brushing his scalp; it was so intimate and so strangely welcome that he allowed her to comfort him, allowed her to tell him without words that she understood as much as was possible and that she forgave him for what had happened back there, knowing that he wanted to apologize for it but couldn't. Then he was leaning into her, against her body, closing the space and allowing himself to bask in the warmth she gave off, the fact that she didn't ask anything else and completely accepted him making his heart beat faster.

Winry moved her hand from his head, downward, until it locked around his left hand, and she twined her fingers with his, a soothing action, and she leaned toward him, her head resting slightly on his shoulder. Her cold fingers wrapped with his, Edward gripped her hand back, and then he gently knocked his head against hers, his bangs falling into his eyes.

She wanted to be with him.

He wasn't sure how long they say like that, Winry's head against his cheek, her hand in his, their palms growing warm. It was probably just a few minutes, but it seemed a lot longer, and he enjoyed every minute of it, listening to her breathe, the smell of clean fire smoke on her clothes and in her hair, simply looking out at the moon and finding the night wasn't so cold anymore; whether that was from the coat or just having Winry beside him, hardly knowing anything about his sin and still wanting to be with him anyway, he didn't know.

"Everything's going to be fine," Winry stated, looking over at Ed.

At the honest conviction and trust he saw in her eyes, in her smile, he realized that maybe everything would be, one day, at least. He could get over this darkness; never completely, but maybe it would gradually relent and allow some peace of mind, but he wouldn't really be alright for a while, not until he got Al his body back.

So, for now, he smiled back and gave her a small nod. "Yeah."

After a moment more of silence, Winry said softly, not looking at Ed and with a soft smile on her face, "Happy early birthday, Ed."

And Edward felt himself smile in return when he glanced at her, because, whether from the cold or something else, her cheeks were flushed. He chuckled softly, burying his face in her shoulder, her hair, and said, "Thank you," leaving the _for everything _unspoken and knowing she would still hear it.


	9. Desire

**~A/N:**

**After two months without an update, here is Story Nine****. I know a lot of people are probably annoyed that I haven't posted this one for so long, but I couldn't think of anything I wanted to write about, and, I'll be honest, I didn't feel like working on** Little Wonders**. But a good idea finally came to me this month, and after finishing some of my other projects, I turned to this. The idea for this chapter came from Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, and that is how the March sisters, mainly Meg and Amy, have to battle against being jealous of other girls and their luxuries, which is where I got Winry's struggle in this story from. Along the way, I realized this coul****d be a standalone fic focused more on Winry than the early stages of the romance she and Edward share, but I wrote it specifically for** LW** and feel like it has a place here. I will go ahead and warn yo****u though that it takes a little while to get into the actual "little wonder", but it is definitely there, just in the second half. Hopefully, I will begin work on the finale pretty soon. I want to thank everyone who still reads this, even after the horribly long delay, and I really am sorry for that. But I hope you enjoy, and feel free to review and let me know what you think and inform me if I missed any grammatical errors ;).**

**StarKatt427**

* * *

><p><strong>Story Nine: Desire<strong>

_...Because she wouldn't mind looking nice in front of a certain boy..._

* * *

><p>At three o'clock on most days, when school was let out and Winry was free to enjoy the rest of the afternoon, she was usually found walking cheerily, if looking somewhat lonely, down the dirt road to her house, her expression calm and eyes dancing with a smile, school bag slung over one shoulder, blonde ponytail swishing gently. Now, however, anyone who passed would have found it obvious something had been said or done to upset the poor girl, as she stomped rather than walked, face without its pale brilliancy and instead ruddy with color, eyes narrowed under furrowed brows, her mouth pulled into something that was not quite a scowl but surely a frown. To finish it all off, her backpack was dragging the ground, strap gripped tightly in one fist.<p>

Winry was not one for envying others. As part of her upbringing, she had been taught to be thankful for what she had and be content, which had proved a rather easy task for her even after the death of her parents. She had never felt deprived, even with the little money that her grandmother and her did make, and she was happy with her life, Granny and the boys the brightest spots.

However, it was hard for her to not become jealous when she saw something pretty and wanted it, as with all little girls. Walking briskly, trying to get as far away from school and the people there as possible, she nearly tripped in her haste and took a short moment to regain her footing before tromping on.

Up until today, Winry had felt like she was pretty. Not a vain person by nature and only the smallest bit conceited if the mood hit her right, it had simply been known to her that she was nice looking. She was the spitting image of her mother, tried to at least look like she cared more about her hair than working on automail, and was content with her looks.

Then Margery Stryder shattered the image she had of herself.

Many people, even in Resembool, had heard stories of the wealthy, well known Stryders of Central. Henry Stryder was a judge, one of the most powerful not just in the capital, but in the entire country of Amestris. He was spoken of well and respected by most, as were his wife and many children. Winry hadn't been concerned in the least with the justice system or the perks it brought along if you knew the right people, but when the teacher had announced that morning the youngest Stryder child would be studying at their small country school, it surprised and fascinated her. If her high status hadn't been enough to pull everyone in, her looks were: to but it simply, the young lady was gorgeous.

On introducing herself, Margery had quickly explained that she was here not own her own violation, but because her father had felt a change in scenery would be nice for her. She didn't seem too impressed with what she saw, but she seemed to be trying to make the best of the situation, and her green eyes had swept sharply over every face before her, which had left Winry feeling like a hick in comparison in her simple clothes.

The morning had gone by smoothly, but when Winry noticed her few girl friends flocking around the new pupil, she had somewhat reluctantly followed, not exactly fond of the girl but still captivated by her. When she had joined the many people surrounding her at recess, Margery had been in the middle of telling them about life in the city, how she and her family had their own personal driver and a mansion filled with foreign relics, how she'd vacationed once in Xing and could speak the language fluently, and when she had received doubt from this last statement, had broken into the dialect smoothly and without trouble. When asked how she liked Resembool, she'd explained to everyone that she found it different, not at all like the city, but that it had its own charm.

For some reason, this had struck a nerve in Winry, possibly because of the patronizing air she'd spoken with, or the way her eyes seemed to hold a haughtiness hidden by appeal. She'd remained silent though, her attraction for the girl steadily departing and leaving her with a slight frown.

When it was stated that the country had so little compared to Central and that there was hardly anything here to purchase, Winry felt a simmering heat bubble up in her chest that was not anger alone, and she had found silence impossible. Calmly, only letting the smallest of irritation slip into her voice and keeping her expression neutral, she had stated, "There's plenty of things we have here that you don't."

Margery had looked at Winry then with those large, catlike eyes, as if noticing her for the first time since that morning. In less than a second though, she had quickly returned the comment, giving a small smile filled with fake thoughtfulness as she'd looked at Winry with sympathy. "I'm sure you do," she'd stated, voice sweet with pity and as if trying to placate, like she was speaking to a little kid.

Anger had turned into pure rage then, but Winry, already becoming a very tact person, had given the girl an smile equal in false politeness, eyes flashing with strength even as she felt her cheeks grow horribly hot. Margery's smile had slipped slightly, as if she understood Winry would not back down, and then Winry had affirmed, "Yes, we do." Forcing her hands to remain loose, she had turned then, whipping her ponytail over her shoulder and walking off with proud shoulders and her head held high, even as her eyes had began to water with tears and she felt like she'd been slapped.

The last three hours of school had gone by slowly, with Winry trying to act normal and saying little, only speaking when the teacher called on her, and completely ignoring the black haired girl two rows over.

Resurfacing from the day's events, Winry felt her cheeks flush all over again, just like they had when Margery had spoken those words and had given her that stuck-up look. She kicked at the ground, hardly able to find it within herself to feel proud about how she had handled the situation, wishing she had smashed in that girl's pretty face instead of acting as undaunted as she had. But that wouldn't have gotten her anywhere, and she knew that, so she'd settled for the next best thing: burning her with a phony smile and acting as if she wasn't discouraged.

However, now that she was away from her friends and teacher and _her_, Winry couldn't help but glare down at her clothes, feeling plain in her faded purpled skirt, T-shirt and old sneakers compared to Margery's leather vest and designer knew she wasn't interested in elaborate apparel like that, but seeing someone else wearing them had made something boil in her blood and pound in her chest, and she wanted to look like that, to be perfect and beautiful in fashionable outfits, rich enough to have anything she wanted.

So it didn't come as too big a shock when Winry realized she was jealous.

By this time, she was in the yard, almost to the porch, and she stopped. Trying to put her anger and jealousy aside, she closed her eye and took several deep, soothing breaths as she attempted to lock away the mass of violent red and acerbic green that swam around her heart and tried to cloud her judgment. Once she had mostly succeeded, only small twinges left but her mood still sour, she walked up the steps and opened the door quietly, hoping to be unnoticed.

"Winry?"

She groaned. Today was just not her day.

"Winry, that you?"

"Yes, Granny," she called through partly clenched teeth as she threw her bag on the floor, then walked down the hall to her grandmother's workroom, where the old woman sat over a short piece of partially grafted automail, a screw driver in her hand and a box of bolts within reach. "What do you need?" Winry asked, trying to keep her tone from sounding too upset.

Pinako Rockbell looked over at her and lifted an eyebrow, clearly seeing something she didn't like, but said nothing about it. Instead, she lifted the piece of metal she was working on and gave Winry a half smile. "I've been waiting for you to get home. I need your opinion on something."

Winry felt pleased if a little shocked, and she smiled amazedly. "Really?"

"Of course. You're in training, aren't you? Your thoughts are important."

"Oh," she said, unable to say much of anything else. "Um, okay. Cool."

She could tell her grandmother was either trying not to laugh or roll her eyes. "Now quite dallying and get over here."

Winry complied and walked to the woman's side, where she looked at the beginnings of an automail hand and wrist, the fingers already cast. The back of the hand was open to reveal narrow spaces where the many wires would go, and several of the screws had already been put in.

"Now," her grandmother said, motioning to the metal limb. "First of all, what kind of joint is the wrist?"

"Gliding," Winry answered immediately, having leaned this and many other anatomical facts years ago.

"Correct. This will be attached to someone's arm." Granny motioned as if to bend the wrist. "So we're going to have to make this specially, since it's a joint. They're more difficult to make and are harder to adapt to."

"I know," Winry said, thought going to Edward's new leg, his knee, and she wondered just how much pain and stress recovery put him through. "But what do you need me for?"

"I'm trying something new. Normally, the screws would go here," Pinako said, pointing to two placed on top of the wrist with the screwdriver. "We did that with Ed's, but we also installed them on the sides.

Winry knew what she was getting at, and her mind was already racing with ideas and possibilities, gears turning as she imagined just how the joint would function. "So you're thinking about also putting those two on the wrist, or just them by themselves and none and top?"

The old woman sighed slightly. "Not sure which yet. That's why I wanted to ask you."

Winry blinked. "But you know way more about automail than me."

This time, her grandmother did roll her eyes. "That's because I've had years of practice, child. But I want to know which you think would work better."

She considered this, thoughts racing around in her head. If four screws total were installed, it could possibly slow the wrist down, and it would probably take more time to take care of. On the other hand, if just the two screws on the sides were fitted, the wrist would move more quickly, but could lose adroitness.

"Two on top, one on each side," she stated surely.

"You think?"

The look her granny gave her, slightly disbelieving with raised eyebrows, was almost enough to make her change her mind. But she knew this game the old woman played, and she was certain she was accurate in her decision. "Yes."

For a moment, Pinako's expression didn't change. But then she gave Winry a grin and nodded approvingly. "Same thing I was thinkin'."

Winry smiled back, looking from her grandmother to the automail and back, wishing she had something to work on at the moment to keep her hands busy and mind preoccupied. "Thanks for asking, Granny."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, turning in her chair to face Winry fully. "Now, I have something else to ask you."

"Okay."

"What happened at school?"

Winry inwardly moaned, having completely forgotten the way her grandmother had first looked at her, like she read something in her expression that had completely given her away. Knowing it was useless to play dumb with Granny, she simply said, "It's nothing bad. I took care of it."

"You're avoiding the question."

"Granny, it's no big deal," she argued.

"When I see my granddaughter looking around with a uncharacteristic frown and dull eyes, I know something's wrong. Now tell me," Pinako demanded firmly.

Winry felt her face droop, and she crossed her arms over her stomach and sighed, looking down at her feet. "We got a new student."

"And?"

"And I don't like her."

"Care to explain why?"

Winry smiled dryly. "I don't really have a choice now do I?"

Her grandmother smirked briefly. "Good answer. Now continue."

She backed up until she was against the wall, trying to get away from her grandmother's inquisitive eyes. "This girl came from Central and started acting like she was better than everyone, even though she was being nice. She said we didn't have anything good like the city, and I got mad and told her we still had a lot of cool things. Granny, you should have seen the way she looked at me," Winry said, finally lifting her eyes. "She treated me like I was some stupid yokel and that I was too poor to even compare with her."

Pinako listened quietly, but her eyes were intense. "So what happened?"

Winry felt a small bit of satisfaction slip through, and she grinned slightly. "I looked right back and her and smiled like she didn't bother me."

The woman's wrinkled face lifted into a smile. "Good girl. Kill 'em with kindness."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I feel good. She was so pretty, and everyone liked her except me, and she's _rich_, Granny. You should have seen her clothes and how pretty she is."

"Looks don't make up a person."

"They sure help," Winry said, unable to hide her bitterness. She hated feeling like this, but the jealousy just didn't want to go away and leave her be, restore her back to the comfortable life she'd known.

Her grandmother sighed, lifting her hand and motioning toward her. "Come here a second." When Winry reached her and stood waiting, frowning and trying not to feel sorry for herself, expecting some encouraging word from the granny, she instead received a hard hit on the top of her head.

"Ow!" she cried, reaching up and rubbing the tender spot with her hand. It hadn't been hard enough to make her eyes sting, but it sure hurt, and her fingers probed the area where her grandmother had smacked her with the butt of her screwdriver. "Geez, what was _that _for?"

"To knock some sense into that head of yours," Pinako answered evenly, placing the tool down and looking at Winry, who couldn't help but pout and narrow her eyes slightly. "Look," the old woman continued, "you're human, so you're gonna get angry with people. You handled that nicely, and I'm proud of you for that, even thought if hurt your feelings and made you mad. But I will not tolerate you pitying your own self, even if that little brat does."

"Granny—"

"Everyone gets jealous sometimes, it's natural. But you can't let that control you. That's when it gets out of hand and makes your soul sick. That girl may have nice things, but do you think she has any real friends?"

Winry blinked, considering the question, and her hand slipped from her head. "No? Probably not," she admitted. Maybe Margery's life was like today, when all of those students had been crowding around her; so many people paying her attention because of her wealth and title, but no one ever really knowing her.

Pinako nodded. "Or do you think she has half the smarts you do if she's so concerned with what's she's wearing?"

Winry shook her head.

"Do you think she has two brothers that always have her back?"

She blushed, looking away as it grew hard to swallow. "But Ed and Al aren't my real brothers," she said softly, reluctantly.

"Maybe not, but they're always going to be there for you. They won't ever forget about you, and that's more than I can say for that Stryder girl."

Winry looked up, shocked. "You knew who I was talking about?" she asked, slightly aghast.

"Of course, everyone's been talking about it all over town," Granny said, waving her hand like it was unimportant. "But back to what I was saying: Are you gonna let her get the best of you? Let resentment get the best of you?"

Winry imagined Margery, all perfect and smooth, as cold as a statue but with less emotion. She thought about how nice her clothes were, then tried to imagine her own self in them and found she couldn't; they just weren't her. Central, the biggest and brightest city in Amestris, was home to that girl, but could it ever be to Winry?

"No," she replied, smiling surely, somewhat fierce in her victory at overcoming this. Sure, she would love to have nicer things, but she was happy, and that was more than Margery could ever be. She didn't have everything she wanted, but she had what she needed.

Pinako smiled approvingly, chuckling. "Glad that's settled. Now, I'm gonna go start on dinner," she said, hopping down from her chair and popping her back. "And you're going to pick that backpack up and take it to your room."

Winry couldn't help but laugh; her grandmother really was like a bat with her hearing. "Okay, Granny." She turned and left the room, walking back down the hall and grabbing her bag. "Hey, where are the boys?" she called to her grandmother, now in the kitchen.

"I think they went outside an hour ago," she answered. "They said they were going to go looking through the woods. Don't know what for, but if they bring any snakes in this house, I'll clobber 'em."

Winry walked by the kitchen, bag over her shoulder, and she leaned in and smiled at her grandmother. "Thank you."

"Uh huh," she replied gruffly, but Winry could see her smiling from where she stood by one of the cabinets. "Now go get on that homework, unless you plan on being in my way all day."

"Whatever you say," Winry said, laughing as she started up the stairs.

And she stopped short, eyes widening as a thought struck her out of nowhere.

Granny was her father's mother, and all of his old things still resided in the bedroom he'd slept in with her mother. Which also meant that Sara's things were there as well, which included her clothes.

There were dresses up there.

"Hey, Granny?"

"What now?"

"Can I go in Mom and Dad's room?"

Pinako appeared in the doorway, looking up at her, faintly concerned." Honey, you sure you're okay?"

Winry laughed lightly, a real laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just…wanted to know if I could look at Mom's clothes."

This would help, Winry knew it would. As a little girl, she had always found her mother's dresses the most beautiful in the world, even the ones that weren't fancy. If she looked at them, she thought she might be able to appreciate her life—and her mother's life—more.

Granny seemed to understand this, and she sighed, smiling slightly. "Sure. Knock yourself out."

* * *

><p>Winry hadn't been in her parents' bedroom in six months.<p>

As she opened the door, the musty cleanness of it filled her nostrils, and she looked around the light colored room; beige walls, blue and white bed linens, and ocean colored furniture. It was familiar and alien, a mere shadow of what had once been filled with traces of life. But she still loved this room, and it filled her with a sense of buttery warm comfort.

When she'd first heard her parents had been killed, Winry had walked into their room and, grabbing one of her father's shirts and one of her mother's dresses, had crawled up on the bed and cried into their clothes. But after that, she'd been afraid to enter this sacred domain, until she'd slowly grown out of this and eventually came to find console and peace by walking into the room where she had tottered on the floor as an infant at her parents' feet. When something was bothering her or the loss of them grew too great, she would sit on the queen size bed and flip through old photo albums or letters they had written, shedding a few tears and sometimes falling asleep.

The last time she had been in here was the night the brothers had tried to bring their mom back and had shown up at her house, Al carrying a bloodied Ed in through the door. She had walked into their bedroom sometime around midnight, exhausted and on the verge of tears and begging for the strength and courage to get through that nightmare. And she had, pulling every ounce of power she could find within herself to keep her composure and staying strong for the boys' sake, knowing her parents were somehow watching her and hoping they were happy.

Slowly, the memories of that time just months ago still flushing through her mind, she walked through the threshold and over the smooth wood, stopping to skim her fingers over the soft, lacy bedding. She sighed, smiling slightly as she recalled petting at the comforter when she was little, before pulling back and walking over to the large dresser, fingers passing over framed photographs and touching the jar filled to the brim with the sea glass her parents had collected over the years. Leaving these things behind, she walked to the twins closets, one having been her father's, the other her mother's.

Briefly, Winry opened the closet to the left, allowing the smell of her father's clothes to swell over her, the sharpness she had never been able to put a name to, clean and sharp, mixed with age, and she touched the edge of one of his shirts. She closed her eyes, missing the way he would brush her cheeks with his stubble and she would smell his neck. Shakily exhaling, she shut this closet, then slowly opened the other.

Filled with her mother's dresses and nicer shirts and slacks, it was a colorful mixture of pastels and brighter shades, ranging from carnation pink to Egyptian blue, from ivory to black. The smell was stale and floral, like honeysuckle, smelling so sweet that Winry felt her eyes water and her body long for the warmth given her by one of her mother's hugs. But she didn't cry, instead reaching in and gently looking through the dresses. Picking out several that she found the prettiest, including the one that she could remember seeing her mom wear most, she pulled them out and laid them on the bed.

When she had been little, Winry had once played dress up with her mother, the young woman painting her face and fixing her hair and putting her in a dress and low heels. Now, Winry was going to play again, this time by herself.

Leaving the dresses on the bed, she walked over to her mother's vanity set, eyes searching over half used perfume bottles and candles, until she found what she was looking for. She lifted one of the small blue tubes and inspected it, then grabbed another after deciding she didn't like the color. The next one caught her attention, and after looking at the other three and deciding she liked it the best, she quickly sat down and applied a small coat of coral lipstick. Rubbing her lips together and making sure she hadn't used too much, Winry smiled and decided it looked good on her.

Not worrying with other makeup items, Winry stood and walked back to the bed, where, keeping her own clothes on, she slipped a spring green sleeveless dress off its hanger and slid it over her head, then smoothed it out in front and back. Straightening the neck line over her shirt, she walked to the floor mirror.

Winry smiled, nearly laughed, at her reflection.

The dress was gorgeous but looked silly on her, most likely because it was far too long, falling several inches above her ankles instead of resting just below her knees, and it hung loosely around her chest, intended for someone many years older. Still, she didn't feel childish at the moment, too caught up in how, even with her hair slightly disheveled and looking like she was wearing a bed sheet, she thought she resembled her mother tremendously, even more so than usual.

And so she continued, sliding out of one dress and climbing into another, turning this way and that to get better glances at herself, laughing at the way she looked in some or simply smiling at others, walking around the room and peeking back at herself. She tried on several day dresses and one that was lavish and violet colored, clearly to be worn for special occasions. The next-to-last one Winry put on, her mother's favorite, was a jasmine yellow sundress that would probably fit her nicely when she got older, and she wondered if it would be alright if she did wear eventually. Once off of her body and back on its rightful hanger, she picked up the last dress, and she smiled at her favorite before eagerly sliding it on.

It brushed her top of her calves and would have come to right above her knees if she had been taller. The material was thin and light, cotton, and felt good against her legs, short sleeves fitting comfortably around her biceps even with a shirt on and being too loose around her chest and stomach and hips. It was red, not quite scarlet, and when she spun, it twirled elegantly around her. Winry smiled brightly, suddenly deciding that if Granny would let her, she would definitely wear this in a few years.

A stifled laugh, followed by a scrape and a muttered curse from outside the room, made her jerk toward the door, where, to her horror, she noticed she hadn't completely shut it. Through the crack, she could see Ed and Al watching her, Edward kneeling on the floor and Alphonse crouched above him. Her eyes grew wide, and her jaw drop.

When it was obvious they had been caught, Edward broke the newfound silence by busting out into hard laughter, halfway falling against Al and mortifying Winry almost as much as she had been earlier at school. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she closed her mouth and tried to keep her lips from trembling, both from rage and distress, as she glared fiercely at them with over bright blue eyes.

Al, for his part, seemed repentant. He stood up, entire manner apologetic, even as a suit of armor, and he looked from Winry to Edward anxiously, taking a moment to grab his brother's shoulder and say, "Come on, Brother, that's enough."

Ed snickered, opening his eyes up enough so that he could see Winry while he grinned at her. "That's some show you were putting on, but aren't you a little old to be playing dress up?" he managed to get out, and then he was lost to hysterics again, leaning against the wall.

It was getting extremely hard not to cry now, whether from anger or hurt, she didn't know, but her vision was steadily growing more clouded, eyes filling. Still too shocked and upset to say anything, she glowered at them, eyes icy. What was their problem? It was bad enough they had actually seen her prancing around in too big dresses and looking like a five-year-old; it made things worse that Ed was laughing as hard as he was and openly mocking her.

And then a thought crept up out of nowhere, an unwelcome shock that made her feel almost as hurt and worried as she was angry, and her cheeks grew hotter. Edward was laughing at how she looked, so did that mean she looked as stupid and ugly as she felt right now?

God, she wanted a wrench right now.

"Ed, really. Stop," Alphonse said, this time more commanding, voice serious, apparently able to see the moisture filling her eyes. She didn't care, still too mad at him, even while he tried to wrangle his brother.

Trying not to giggle, Edward sat up and looked at Winry, and the last traces of his snicker vanished slowly, as if finally realizing that she was looking down at him with tearfully wrathful eyes. She realized her hands were shaking, hard, and her restraint was beginning to slip. She had put up with enough today; she didn't need to be ridiculed by her two best friends.

Ed gave a nervous half laugh and made it to his feet, eyes somewhat cautious, clearly able to tell Winry was about to either scream at them or cry or both. He stepped into the room, followed by his younger brother. "Hey, come on, we were just playing."

She didn't say anything, and she felt her shoulder jerk.

Al lifted his hands imploringly. "We came by and heard you laughing, so we wanted to know what you were doing in here. And, well…when we saw you…we, um…" He trailed off, completely at a loss for how to finish his thought.

He was trying to be nice, and Winry knew that; Alphonse was not one to make fun of people, too sweet to think it enjoyable. Still, he had stayed and watched her when she thought no one would be able to, and that was enough to make her resent him, at least for a little while. The main problem was Ed, who didn't have trouble openly mocking people, even the ones he cared about, and especially over something like this. He knew how sacred mothers were; he should have respected this.

She watched as Edward smiled warily, clearly knowing he was in trouble and trying to talk his way out of it. "Honestly, it was—"

"Get out."

The command sounded nothing like her, harsh and cold but with tints of emotion, like the way her voice cracked on the last word, and she tried to make her eyes piercing as she frowned at them, her hands now fists.

Shock was apparent on his face, as in the way his body seemed to freeze, and he looked at her with large eyes, smile slipping. "What?"

"You heard me," Winry said, praying that the water wouldn't spill from her eyes. "Go away."

Edward's eyebrows furrowed, and she couldn't see any emotion from Alphonse due to the helmet, but his voice was soft and apologetic when he spoke. "Winry, please don't be made. We weren't trying to be mean."

She looked at him, trying to keep her glare in place and give him a moment to let it sink in that to her, they had been mean, namely Ed. He seemed to catch on after a minute, because he ducked his head.

When she turned back to Edward, she found him with narrowed eyes, not quite frowning as he stared at her. He cocked his head to the side, studying her.

_Oh no. Oh no oh no_. Winry knew exactly what he was doing, and she made her eyes appear harder, flash brighter, her scowl deepening. She wasn't going to let him figure out something else was bothering her, and that was if he hadn't already; it was hard enough to admit it to herself.

If Ed had laughed at her now, when she was at least attempting to see how fixing up made her look, how would he react to Margery Stryder, the embodiment of attractiveness?

It was childish, letting that bother her almost as much as his laughter; it was also impossible, as Ed showed little interest in girls, solely focused on getting Al back to normal. But the thought worried her, for a reason she wasn't sure of, and she hated that it made her feel even worse and caused her eyes to grow even wetter, made emotion balloon up in her chest.

For just a fraction of an instant, her control slipped, and she felt something flash like lightning over her face, and all she could hope for was that Ed hadn't noticed.

He full out frowned now, eyes unreadable but expression telling her that he had, in fact, seen in. Edward walked toward her until there was just a few inches between them, and Winry felt something light up in her chest; more anger maybe? It was hot and jumpy and made her fingernails claw the inside of her palms, and she kept her eyes locked down on his, her frown furious but not quite as powerful as his own.

Suddenly aware that she was beginning to lose ground, she did her best to snarl out, "I said go away!"

It came as a shock when Edward did not rise back with a retort and yell at her in return; instead, he looked steadily at her, golden eyes strangely intense and glowing almost, hard and, beneath, softer, like he really had seen what she was trying to hide. Voice quiet and unnaturally calm, he said, "Make me."

His eyes were scorching in their gaze and seemed to rip away every one of her defenses, leaving her with eyes that were widening and lips that pulled out of their frown. She blinked at him.

And then she started crying, unable to force the moisture back any longer as she lifted her hands and buried her face in them.

The tears were hot as the fell down her cheeks and onto her hands, made from jealous acid, and Winry couldn't fight the sob that welled up in her chest. She hated this, feeling so petty and sensitive and immature, even when she was trying not to let her envy of Margery and being teased by Ed get the better of her, and she was unable to stop crying, sniffling and wishing she could just disappear; if she hadn't been humiliated before, she definitely was now.

Why did it hurt so bad when Edward made fun of her? Yes, he teased her often, and she had mostly grown used to it. But when she was already in a fragile state and trying to recover and he just had to come along and ruin it, that was when she lost it and wanted to bash his brains in. It was obvious he was insensitive, but shouldn't he have a bit more discretion then what he'd just displayed? But then Winry realized he might just, because he wouldn't have looked at her like that if he hadn't been able to understand her so well.

Looking at the floor, she moved one of her hands and wiped at her eyes, sniffing thickly and trying not to hiccup, throat clogged with tears and feeling like the biggest idiot ever born into existence.

And then a hand landed on her shoulder and patted it, awkward in its reassuring. "Hey," Edward said, voice slightly rough and uncomfortable, just as he always sounded when she was crying and he tried to be nice. "Quit being a crybaby. I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry."

Not the most eloquent of apologies by any standards, but when Winry opened sticky eyes and looked past her fist at him, her anger began to trickle away, because even if he hadn't said it with enough force to make someone believe him, his eyes held the truth, and she understood that he honestly meant what he said. Looking up at her, his golden eyes were swirling and troubled and anxious, mouth pulled down unhappily, and she sucked up her tears as best she could, wiping her nose.

His eyes changed then, tightened, and he gripped her shoulder gently with his flesh hand. "You don't believe me, do you?" he asked softly.

Winry couldn't help it; she smiled, giving a wet chuckle and clearly telling him she did. She could still hear his laughter and taunts, but it didn't hurt as much anymore, now a light sting that would soon go away, and she forgave him and Alphonse.

He smiled then too, then quickly ruffled her hair, the incident clearly gone from his mind. "Good. Now," Ed said, Al coming to stand behind him, and both stared at her seriously, even with Alphonse having no real eyes. "Tell us what's really wrong."

Winry sighed, defeated, and hung her head slightly as she sat back on the bed, rubbing her hands over her damp face. Al sat beside her with care, and Ed moved to the vanity chair, and then they were both waiting. "Just a rough day," she said softly, voice stopped up, knowing there was no way either would let it end with that.

"What else?" Ed demanded, wincing as he shifted his automail leg.

Instead of out rightly answering, Winry looked from Alphonse to Edward, trying to decide how she could admit how silly she had been without being made fun of again. "Have you…have you ever wanted something you couldn't have?" she asked, her eyes traveling from Al to Ed.

She didn't realize her mistake until it was too late.

Edward's eyes went distant for a moment, like he had drifted far away, and then they were locked fully on her, regretful and hard and hiding emotion, clearly thinking about his and Al's mother and what had prompted them to attempt Human Transmutation. "Yes," he stated softly.

Winry wished she had bit her tongue, guilt immediately gnawing up at her at asking that question. "Ed, I'm so—"

"Forget it," he said dismissively, taking a quick glance at his brother that no one but Winry would have seen, as if searching to see if Alphonse was alright. She looked in time to see Al nod faintly, and then she turned back to Ed as he said, "Keep going."

Winry sighed, still feeling awkward about what had just taken place but continuing nonetheless. "Well, there's this…this new girl at school, and…well…she's…"

"What? A bitc—"

"Brother," Alphonse warned, making Winry smile and Edward look just the slightest bit deterred, but he didn't continue his thought.

"Yeah, you could say that," Winry said to Ed. "She's from Central and her father's a big time judge, so she's rich."

"Then why'd she come here?" Al asked curiously.

"He made her. She's here for the rest of the semester, but I'm not sure I can handle her for that long," Winry confessed.

"And why is that?" Edward asked, propping his elbow on the vanity and resting his cheek on his palm. While his posture implied he was barely listening, his eyes were inquiring, and she could tell he was thinking, trying to figure out what she would say next.

"It's just…I want to punch her. She thinks she's better than everyone and that Resembool's a dump, and then she went and treated me like I was an idiot at recess."

Alphonse twiddled his thumbs, red-white eyes on her. "You…didn't hit her, right?"

She smiled dryly. "No, but I probably would have felt better if I had. I just smiled back and pretended like nothing was wrong."

Edward was grinning at her. "I would have just punched her, but I guess your way's effective too."

Al gave a nod, clearly glad she did not choose to hit anyone. But then he was looking at her again, and even while he had no real expressions, Winry sensed concern. "That's not all, is it?" he stated more than asked.

Here came the embarrassing part. How did you tell two boys that you were jealous over appearances, especially when all these two cared about was alchemy? "Yeah, um, since she's so rich, she had a lot of…nice things."

"'Nice things'?" Edward repeated, cocking an eyebrow.

She tried not to frown, wishing he could be a bit more observant toward things like this; but he was a boy, and she tried not to expect too much of him. "A big house, clothes, anything she wants. And, well, I sorta got…jealous…of her."

"But why?" Al asked innocently. "You have so much she probably doesn't."

"Fancy clothes isn't one," she mumbled.

"You mean…? Oh, so _that's_ why you were playing dre—" Edward caught her quick glare and immediately changed his words. "Um, putting on your mom's things."

Winry turned to Al, figuring he would be of more help than Ed since he was the sensitive one. "I couldn't help it. She just looked so nice, and I felt poor next to her, and I thought that…if I had pretty dresses…I might not look as plain."

While Alphonse was clearly a boy, he was able to talk to Winry about stuff like this, something she was immensely grateful of. But he took her by surprise at just how nice he actually was at the moment. "You, plain? Winry, you'd have to be blind not to think you're pretty."

She felt her eyes widen, and a soft blush crept over her cheeks. "Y-you really think so?"

Alphonse seemed to catch himself and realize what he was saying; he gave an embarrassed stutter and quickly looked away. "Y-yeah. Ask anyone," he said, trying to cover.

It was a known fact that Al had had a crush on her when they were little; he'd proposed to her once, but she had kindly declined. Of course, so had Ed, and she'd refused him as well. Winry had never thought of him being more than her brother or best friend, but she wasn't sure if Alphonse still carried this crush or not; even if he did, she couldn't find it within herself to mind right now. So, smile softer than any piece of silk, she leaned up and placed a kiss on the metal helmet, right where Al's little cheek would have been.

He looked at her, clearly shocked and unable to move, metal limbs stiff and held up slightly, and she could almost imagine how he would have looked, all rosy cheeks and wide, pale gold eyes.

"Thanks," she said, still smiling and trying not to giggle at how adorable he was.

"Ah, you're welcome," he replied, voice an octave higher than usual, and she couldn't hide her laughter any longer.

"Am I interrupting?" Edward asked sarcastically, pulling Winry and Al to look back at him. He was looking at her nonchalantly, and she was about to give a smart retort, but lost her train of thought as something swift flashed over his face. Honey eyes hardened, and his frown deepened for just a second, almost to where he looked like he was sulking, his body slightly tense in its casual position. He glanced at Alphonse, and a slight shadow filled his eyes; but then it vanished, and he was looking back at her.

He actually looked…annoyed, though Winry couldn't understand why. She felt her interest flare up, but she tried not to show it as she gave him a sardonic smile in return and heard Al laugh, still tinged with his earlier nervousness.

Before her very eyes, she saw Edward flash a slight scowl at his little brother, not with enough venom to truly wound but clearly showing he was displeased, and then it was gone, almost as if she'd imagined it.

Winry felt her eyes round a little as a thought occurred to her, one that was ludicrous and unrealistic and completely impossible and made her face feel warm.

Was Ed…jealous?

He'd been acting normally up until she had kissed Al's cheek, and then he seemed to be subtly glaring daggers at them, especially his brother. But that didn't make any sense, because if he was jealous, then that meant—

She didn't get any farther in her thought, because Edward took that moment to speak.

"Look, you're…um…nice," he said, and she felt a spark of annoyance once again at his lack of expressive wording, "and you shouldn't waste you time worrying over some dumb girl. She has city clothes and is pretty; so? You've actually got a personality. And…looks," he mumbled, glancing away, face somewhat red. "And you've got us. So don't let somebody like that get under your skin."

As she listened to him, Winry found herself more and more appreciative of his inelegant words, slowly feeling something like a smile trying to lift her lips and a warm glow tint her cheeks. When he was finished and looking at her expectantly, his own face still colored lightly, eyes smoldering, she could do nothing but smile brightly at him, saying nothing and hoping he'd be able to know how much what he said meant to her—what _he _meant to her.

He blinked slowly, expression slipping into something softer and kinder as he gave a smile in return—not a grin or a leer, but a real smile that he saved only for a few people, and Winry was one of the lucky few. He quickly lifted an eyebrow, letting her know he understood her gratitude.

"Now," he said a moment later as he stood up and stretched his automail arm, "I say we head down to the den and find something to do. You know, like, read maybe?"

Winry and Alphonse laughed at the bookworm, but she shook her head. "I'm gonna have to pass. Homework."

Edward did pout this time, something that Winry found, of all things, kind of endearing. "At least do it downstairs so you can talk to me. I get bored."

"You're going to be reading, and Al's going with you," she argued.

"It's more fun with you around though. Right?" he said, looking up to the armor for agreement, and Al nodded dutifully, still chuckling lightly, the laughter echoing in his helmet.

Winry grinned at Ed. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that, Edward Elric."

"And you never will again," he replied, returning the grin, and she was glad to see his mood was no longer sour, though it still confused her as to why it was in the fist place. "One time compliment."

She sighed, casting her eyes to the ceiling. "Fine, I'll be down there in a minute."

Edward flashed a triumphant smirk, Al lifted his hand and gave her a half wave, smiling an unseen smile, and then they exited the room, leaving Winry alone once more.

Winry stood up and walked back to the mirror, looking at her reflection, just now remembering she still had the red dress on. She held the smooth material in her hands, thoughts traveling back to how angry she had been with the brothers for spying on her. Now, she felt silly for having been so mad, but that was usually how it was between them: Edward would do something to enrage her, she would be livid for a few minutes, Alphonse would help calm her down enough to think, and all would be forgiven.

This time, things had been different though. _Edward _had been the one to make her break, to begin the recovery, with his soft eyes and warm hand on her shoulder and his hidden apology, the one he hadn't uttered, the one that was truer and more wholesome than anything he could ever say.

They were right, all of them: Granny, Edward, Alphonse. She didn't need material items to make her happy, not when she had the people to fill her heart. That didn't mean she would never feel the deadly sin envy again, but she hoped that maybe next time, she would remember this experience and what she had been told.

"A personality, huh?" she whispered, smiling gently.

A knock caught her attention, and she looked around to see Edward in the doorway, smiling apologetically for what had transpired earlier and trying to make up for it by informing her of his arrival this time. Winry laughed, letting him know he was off the hook. "Back already?"

"Yeah," he said, smile beginning to disappear as he walked in, and she found something off in the way he looked around the room almost nervously, eyes never resting on her.

"Did you forget something?"

"Um, no, not really," he mumbled.

She smiled slightly. "So what's up?"

Edward looked at her finally, frowning and soft eyed, two thing that were usually unseen of together. He gripped his automail arm behind his back with his left hand, swaying where he stood; he looked almost nervous.

"Well?" Winry encouraged.

She heard him take a deep breath, and then his eyes were fixedly on her, swirling like melted gold. "You look nice."

Winry tried not to gawk. "Huh?"

"In…the dress," he muttered, face going red all the way down to his neck, and he bit his bottom lip. "It's…pretty, the color and everything. You look…you look cute."

She blinked owlishly at him, blue eyes wide and amazed and feeling like someone had just injected hot, sweet syrup into her veins; she felt nervous and delighted, surprised and a little bit disoriented, completely unsure of what she should say back. But what took over most was the sheer enjoyment, and it flowed up her face until she was blushing like a rose and beginning to beam, still unable to think of how she should answer him.

Winry didn't have to, because Ed jerked around quickly so that his back was to her, a hand scratching uneasily at the back of his head. "Yeah, uh, that's all I needed. I'll see you downstairs," he said in a quick rush of almost garbled words. He moved to the door stiffly, body language terse.

Something finally clicked, and Winry reached out instinctively, even while he was out of reach. "Ed."

He froze, shoulders rigid, arms locked at his sides, and her turned around grudgingly, eyes veiled and mouth pulled into a pronounced frown; but Winry clearly saw that his face was still flushed. "What?"

She lifted her mouth in a small flash of a smile, then looked at him with honest eyes, her own face flooded with warmth. "Thank you. For everything."

Frown disappearing, he watched her with eyes that steadily began to thaw with something pleasant and contented, and Edward grinned at her softly, golden eyes sparkling gently as his cheeks colored a shade darker. He didn't say anything in response, but he gave her a quick wink, and then he was walking out the door, hands in his pockets. "Hurry up and get your stuff," he called.

Winry smiled and gave a soft laugh and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, still able to feel Ed's wink and feel its warmth, the knowledge that he thought she was cute unleashing a fluttery feeling in her chest, like a baby bird beating its wings.

It felt good.

* * *

><p><strong>¡Bonus Note!<strong>

***When Winry opens her dad's closet, she can smell his scent still on his clothes; I based Urey Rockbell's cologne off of some my own dad used to wear: Coty Musk. I can remember being little and my sister and me smelling his neck when he would come in from work, so I got that idea from personal experience.**


	10. Transient

**~A/N:**

**And so we have it: the final chapter in the **Little Wonders** series. ****It's kind of fitting that the last update in this sequence is also the longest; that made me smile.**** Can you believe that I actually began this last story back in August? That was only two months after I started working on this series. I got the idea for this from something I wrote in my story **Cleansing Rain**:**

_The night they left for their journey, her smiling miserably, thinking at best, they would come back in a few years; at worst, they wouldn't return at all. He'd somehow found himself hugging her for the first time in years at that moment. He remembered the way her body had felt so large against his, yet so fragile, as he found himself hugging her with a painful longing he didn't know even existed._

**I can remember trying to come up with an idea to end this series with, and then those lines popped into my head, and I began work as soon as I could. I left it alone for months, but the idea was still in my head, and over the months that followed (and mostly in the past week), it morphed into what it is now, and I must say that I am extremely proud of it, and this entire series as a whole.  
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**The title for this the last chapter came as a surprise to me, as I had originally planned on entitling this **"Valediction"** (or farewell), as this was the end. However, as I became immersed in the story and with the plot that I was creating, I realized this wasn't going to fit along with the chapter. After discovering this and knowing what I wanted the theme to be, I searched through thesauruses and synonyms, until I found the perfect word, a word that means 'temporary'. Also, as a side note,** I threw in some brotherly fluff, which came naturally and was not intended at the start, but I decided to go on and put it in anyway.**  
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**I want to thank everyone who has stuck with me these last seven months, June through December, and found reading **Little Wonders** worth your time, and a special thanks goes out to everyone who reviewed; you guys kept my hopes up. It's sad, ending this project, but it's also giving me a chance to begin new series, and I'm looking forward to the new year and the stories that will crop into my head.  
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**But hey, who knows? I might decide to come back to this series one day; it depends on if an idea strikes me, which I have a very strong feeling it will. So don't be too surprised if you see this has been updated, even after being marked 'Complete' ;).  
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**Thank you.**

**StarKatt427**

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><p><strong>Story Ten: Transient<strong>

_...Because this is not goodbye..._

* * *

><p>Today could turn out to be two things: the beginning or the end.<p>

Edward chose to believe the first.

For the last several months, it had been as if time wanted to taunt him, to move slowly and force him to get over the restlessness and anxiety, to at least try and learn some patience. And he had lasted through it, possessing more endurance and strength than he'd ever thought possible, both physically and mentally. It had changed you, watching your younger brother disintegrate before your very eyes, to see him being pulled away and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it, his screams radiating in your ears and into your dreams, turning them to nightmares. It made Ed remember things he'd rather forget, see things he wouldn't find in the goriest of horror films, haunted him until he was a pitiful mass of sobs and heaves and shivers and wails, good hand clawing at the stumps that had once been his limbs to take on at least some of the pain Alphonse must have felt during his time in The Portal.

But he'd pulled through those first few months, only by the knowledge that Al was, for the moment, still alive and still with him, his little brother's presence the most calming thing he had ever known besides their mother's. Over the last year, most of his time had been consumed with adjusting to two automail limbs at the same time (a task difficult for even the strongest of men) and searching through alchemy texts, scanning fable after fable, formulas and theories, until he had found their one shot; a long shot, maybe even nothing more than a legend, but Edward was determined to prove whether the Fifth Element—The Philosopher's Stone—was real or not. His suitcase was packed, a few last minute things needed to be taken care of, and that was it; he was ready to go.

What worried him was if Alphonse was.

Edward walked down the dirt road, his back to the Rockbell home—his home for the last thirteen months. His movements were slow for once, unrushed and even somewhat relaxed, the sound of his automail foot creating a louder thud through the thick soul of his boot than his real one as he trumped onward, golden eyes scanning leisurely over everything in sight; the sky, clouded and gray but without rain, the trees that were just beginning to change colors, their leaves fading from soft green into fiery reds and yellows. Hills rolling with green, sheep out in the distant fields…this was Resembool, and he felt a pang in his chest at what—and who—he was leaving behind.

Edward shook his head as if to clear away the fog that tried to wrap around him, to keep him here, and he quickened his pace, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he looked ahead, toward his destination. He wouldn't let himself be tempted into delaying their search for the Stone, not when he had Alphonse to think about, not when his brother was a constant reminder at just how badly he had screwed up, not when his own metal limbs only made him think of what he had lost instead of what he'd gained.

When his target came into view, Edward couldn't help the nervousness and shame that tinged his consciousness, and his movements stilled so that he was standing in the road, chewing at his bottom lip gently. He hadn't come here in months, and that in itself was enough to make him feel horrible; it was worse because he had been afraid to, and even now he could feel the dread creep up on him. But he couldn't hide from this forever, wouldn't try to, and so he resumed his trek, already able to feel his heart trying to lodge itself his throat.

Along the fence that had been present farther back than Edward's memory carried him, two tall, wooden posts loomed in front of him as he stood before the entrance to the cemetery. He took a deep breath in the hopes that it would calm him at least slightly and then slipped into the graveyard, lifting his left hand to brush his fingers over the aged wood of one of the posts. The sound of grass crunching beneath his feet, the feel of the cool air of his face and hands, entering his lungs, the blood pulsing through his veins and heart, they grounded him as he traveled through the stone markers, and Edward, though glad that he had finally come, was unable to get rid of the weight in his chest.

He passed where Winry's parents rested, pausing just a moment to give Urey's grave a nod and Sara's a tiny smile, and then he moved down one, then another, and stopped.

Standing there in front of the hard granite with the name Trisha Elric chiseled into it, Edward looked down tenderly at his mother's headstone.

When Trisha had died and left him hardly old enough to care for both his toddler brother and himself, all he had been able to do was sit before her gravestone and sob salty, hot tears, and when the grief wasn't quite so great, simply stare at her name, his thoughts wrapped around conjectures and notes he'd read in his father's books, probing his memories for anything he'd ever read about humans and life and death. He'd been desperate, frantic to hear his mother's voice and see her smile and simply _feel _her again, and so he had dragged Alphonse along after him into that hellish nightmare, resulting in the situation they were in now.

Edward wasn't going to back down; he would see this through and get Al's body back, even if he died in the process.

That didn't mean he wasn't scared, though.

Moving somewhat carefully even though his automail was perfectly fine and no longer difficult to control, Edward sat down cross-legged in front of the tombstone, hands resting in his lap as he halfway smiled, his eyes woebegone and feeling older than time itself. "Hey, Mom."

Garbed in all black, hair now long enough to have in a lengthy braid, he wondered what his mother would see if she were alive; however, he knew it would not be her little man. That Edward was dead, having been consumed in purple lights and black tentacles, mocking laughter and heart piercing cries. He was a sinner now, and Edward Elric, careless child and Al's protector, Winry's bodyguard, was gone. Now, he was Edward Elric, the FullMetal Alchemist, a dog of the military, the one who had condemned his brother to a life of cold steel and had brought his mother back to life, only to murder her; he had given up all ties to childhood, and while he had done it readily, it left a sore spot in his heart when his mind slipped away to days long ago, cavorting through tall summer grass, Alphonse and Winry at his heels, reading stories with his mother late at night and making her laugh.

He inhaled deeply, the faintest of trembles discernable, as his eyes slipped shut, and suddenly, even with youth long gone, he felt like a little kid again, talking to his mother and not even sure if she could hear him or not. "Sorry I haven't come in a while. Everything's just been…well, you know." His pinched at the screws in his right hand, metal cool between the pads of his digits, lungs constricted as if he couldn't get enough air. It was like drowning, and he knew good and well what drowning felt like, but this was different; there was no water, and yet it was hard to breathe, his chest so tight and heart aching as it pushed against his ribs. He looked off to the side, away from the gray stone and over the green knolls, able to see his old home, the house he had grown up in with his brother; the house where he had killed his mom.

Edward couldn't escape the guilt, both from his sins and from avoiding conversation about his mother with anyone save Alphonse, and even then the dialogue had been sparse. He knew she was gone, but he could almost imagine her watching him, listening and—to his surprise—not judging.

"I was scared to come here," he said softly, trying not to cringe at how little he sounded, at how defenseless he really was without her, even now, seven years later. "I couldn't come and face you, not after what we did…what _I _did." It was hard to speak now, his chest squeezing in on itself, and he felt the back of his eyes burn as he sighed wobbly, gazing at her name, the curves and sharp points of the letters. "But this is the last chance I've got, at least for now. I need this. I need to talk to you, even if you aren't there.

"You know what I did to Al. And that's why I'm the only one who can fix it, get him back to normal." Against his will, Ed felt wetness creep into his eyes and slightly obscure his vision, blurring the letters. "We're leaving, Mom. I'm getting Al's body back, and if I can, I'll try to get my arm and leg back. Al worries about me, even though he tries not to show it too much. Sometimes, I honestly think he might want to get me my limbs back than his own body." Edward laughed thickly, a slight, fond smile tugging his mouth up. "He's so selfless, and I can't say no to him.

"I…I _have _to do this. I know that, but still…I'm afraid. Something could go wrong, and then I could lose Al again, for good. I…I'm not ready to risk that. I never will be. But I have to try. I made a promise to him, that we would gets our bodies back, together, and I'm not breaking it." He closed his eyes and tried to fight back tears, throat hot and words breathy. "I don't expect forgiveness; I don't deserve it. But I just wanted to be here one last time before we leave, to talk to you like I used to and feel like I used to, and just remember you. So I came to say goodbye. I don't know when we'll be back, or even if I will. But I will definitely bring Alphonse home, safe and whole. I swear." Edward bit back a whimper. "I miss you, all the time. And please, please just know I love you."

When Edward opened his eyes, he was no longer the State Alchemist he had just days ago been made. He felt old and nakedly young at the same time, like the child he was if his age was considered and like the adult he'd become through the horrors he'd seen and the sins he'd committed, taboos broken and blood spilt, flesh torn and bones ripped from their hinges, screams shattering his sanity and puncturing his soul. He was in an in between state; his past self mixed with his present, future entity unknown and untouchable.

But he felt different, not in the way he'd grown accustomed to; this was something softer and less burdensome, almost like the innocence and ignorance he'd sacrificed that night a year ago. Edward blinked slowly at the emotions churning within, trying to understand what this was and what it was doing to him.

Ed felt…peaceful. Oddly enough, even with the looming departure and the possibility of losing everything he had, he felt, for the first time in a long time, calmed, if only slightly. It was enough though, and he smiled softly, knowing for the first time that somewhere, in a way that was far beyond his understanding and maybe past mankind's, his mother had heard him, her blessing like a soothing balm on his heart, spring warm and blue sky beautiful.

"Thank you," he said, barely above a whisper.

It was at that moment he realized he wasn't alone.

Slowly, Edward looked up to see the hulking mass of armor that was Alphonse, and immediately, something twitched in his chest, painful and yearning. He felt no anger at being eavesdropped on, even when he would have with Al if it had been a year ago; now, he felt warm, unsure and afraid and strong and loved, all because of his brother.

Ed unhurriedly stood and faced Alphonse, trying to discover what his brother was thinking and unable to, and he hated it, not being able to see Alphonse's expressions, the ones that had long ago made it so easy for him to read his little brother's emotions. He smiled weakly, sad and weary but completely and wholeheartedly real, a welcoming gesture better than any words, inviting his brother to speak freely.

There was a strangled sound that exited the armor, the closest thing Al could get to a sob, and Edward felt his smile falter, wobble and try to slip into trembling lips as Alphonse's soft cry perforated his heart and turned him inwardly to mush. His little brother looked at him, soul bright eyes intense and gripping, gaze shuddering. "Edward," he choked out, gauntlets rattling as they began to shake. The visor revealed nothing, Al's internal feelings hidden by a mask of metal; but it didn't really matter, because his words told Ed everything he needed to know.

Something sun bright hot burned within Ed, his soul deliciously on fire and the heat inside him blazing out through his eyes, and a delicious shiver traveled down his spine at his brother's voice, the way it caressed his name and said it with such openness and strength and ardent love. His felt feverish almost, a fierce longing scorching through his veins and pumping his heart faster. He wanted to see Alphonse again; not his soul, but his flesh and blood body, his honey eyes and beautiful smile, the same as their mother's. Edward wanted to reach out and place his fingers to Al's skin, to feel the heat of it beneath his fingers, warm and soft and blessedly alive, to hear his voice without the harsh echo. But it was impossible for Ed to say that he did not feel love for this armor, this body that housed his baby brother's soul and kept him living.

He grinned, blinking back moisture, and laughed tenderly.

And he knew Al could see the sincerity in his gaze and smile, could tell he understood everything he wasn't able to say aloud.

Hands still shaking, Alphonse asked softly, tears in his voice, "Brother…you…you're sure…?"

_Of course he'd ask that_, Edward thought, inwardly rolling his eyes affectionately. Even though Al knew Ed wouldn't shy away from this, he had to ask, just to make sure it was really what he wanted. And it was, because Ed couldn't imagine living, life normal or not, with Alphonse stuck in that empty shell for eternity.

So he softened his smile, a smile he saved just for Alphonse, and gently, surely, nodded.

Al didn't moved, but his frame seemed to relax slightly as he looked back at Edward. In return, he nodded his own head. "Okay then."

There was still a fragility to his tone, and it worried Ed, making him once again wonder if bringing Alphonse along was the right thing to do. He looked inquiringly at him, trying not to feel too nervous. "Are you?"

A chuckle, wet even without real tears. "Brother, we've discussed this. I'm going with you, and we're getting your arm and leg back, and my body."

Edward, not as concerned with himself as with Al, knew his brother had heard what he'd said, and he didn't like the way Alphonse tagged the last bit on, as if he felt the same way Ed did; determined to restore what his sibling had lost and throw care for himself to the wind. He cocked an eyebrow just slightly but was unable to stop from smiling. "You just don't want to be left behind," he teased gently.

Red-white eyes bore deeply into his. "No, I don't."

Breath catching for just a moment, Ed swallowed at the newfound thickness in his throat and blinked. "And I don't want you out of my sight. But I'm…" He trailed off, feeling a little self conscious.

"Scared?" Alphonse offered softly. "So am I."

"But I'm not worried about what might happen to me," Edward argued somewhat desperately, looking at the grass.

Al was quiet for a whole three seconds. "Oh," he said, and Ed could hear just by that one word that he understood exactly what he was referring to, and he looked back up at his little brother, bottom lip sucked under his top. "You mean me."

"I'm…nervous…that something might happen to you," Ed clarified, deciding not to use the word 'afraid'. "Al, I can't lose you. I can't."

Alphonse would have been smiling, Edward knew it. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. But you…you do know I feel exactly the same way, right?"

Of course he did; Ed knew how his brother thought, and he smiled crookedly, giving a thick chuckle and basking in the soft glow inside his chest. Edward walked forward to where he was standing just before Alphonse, looking up at his little brother, just like always, and not able to be mad about it at the moment. He lifted his automail hand and gently knocked it against his brother's chest plate. "I'm not going anywhere," he said steadily, repeating Al's words.

When Alphonse spoke, Ed could hear the satisfied smile in his words. "Alright then. So we're sticking together."

"Just like always," Edward affirmed.

When he pulled his hand back, a thought occurred to him. "Did you come here to say goodbye too?"

Al looked from him to their mother's grave. "Yeah. But then I heard you and…oh, I'm sorry about that, Brother," he stuttered abashedly, turning back to Ed.

He grinned, actually laughed. "Don't be. But don't make a habit out of listening in on my private conversation," he joked.

"Right. Um, listen," Alphonse began quietly, "would you mind if…?"

Edward understood what he wanted immediately and smiled, knowing Alphonse wouldn't be able to bid their mother farewell with him listening; it was different for Ed, who hadn't even heard Al walk up, and so he nodded, already beginning to move. "Not at all," he answered, taking a quick moment to slide his left hand against Al's arm, over the icy metal and harsh edges, and was unable to dislike the feel of his brother's substitute body.

"Thanks," Alphonse said gratefully, and Edward heard turn him to watch him leave.

"I'll be at the house," he called over his shoulder.

"Brother?"

Ed turned, cocking his eyebrows in a 'fire away' expression.

"Maybe you should talk to Winry."

The bottom dropped out his stomach, chest constricting just slightly and filling with cold shards, and Edward looked away, already uncomfortable. "You know it won't do any good."

"Just try. For her."

For Winry. The idea of starting a conversation with her right now was not desirable, especially after the last few days, Winry having been remote in her actions and rare in appearances and hardly saying anything, even when Edward had tried to speak to her. Albeit he himself hadn't said much since he'd gotten back from East City with his silver pocket watch and certificate of authentication, but it was as if she was finally realizing that they were, in fact, leaving, and had shut him out. Even Al received little response, although it was more than she gave Ed.

Still, she was his friend, his mechanic. She had made his arm and had helped with his leg, and while he would love to have his original limbs back, he couldn't help but feel a little proud of her when he looked at the automail she had made. He already kept so many things from her; a goodbye shouldn't be another thing to add to the list.

He sighed slowly, damming up his emotions, not allowing himself to be sad. "I'll try," he promised.

And he would. But whether he succeeded would be up to her.

* * *

><p>Edward knew exactly where Winry would be.<p>

He knew the way she worked, as much as he could understand a girl; she liked the familiar, but was not entirely afraid of the unknown. In times of hardship, she sought comfort and solitude, peacefulness. Which is why he knew she would be in her parents' bedroom.

The walk home had flown by, unfortunately for Edward, the sky calm and somewhat drab in its grayness. He had quietly snuck back into the house, somehow managing to avoid Pinako and her knowing eyes, and had crept up the stairs and down the hall, so that he now stood in front of the closed, wooden door that led into Urey and Sara Rockbell's old room. All was silent, but she was in there; she had to be.

Winry didn't enter this room very often, only when the weight on her shoulders grew too heavy a burden and she could no longer handle the problem alone; or it could be a simpler reason, as when he and Alphonse had found her slipping on dresses and wearing lipstick a few months ago, trying to, as he had dubbed it, "get in touch with her girly side, if she even had one".

But seeing her in that red dress and somehow knowing she would be able to wear it one day and look good in it, staring directly into her large eyes and watching them tear up, watching her smile her lipsticked smile at him…maybe she did have a feminine side. Edward highly doubted she would have been able to make him blush if she didn't.

Just thinking about that day made his face feel hot, and he frowned, not the least bit happy with the heat at the moment. True, she had looked…pretty. And when she wasn't fooling with tools and automail and didn't smell like grease and oil and sweat, she smelt…nice, he admitted, maybe even boarding on good. So what if she had the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen? That meant nothing.

Edward sighed softly, hanging his head. Who was he kidding? It meant everything.

How in the world was he going to tell her goodbye?

Looking back at the wooden door, he lifted his hand and softly gripped the knob, slowly taking a breath as he tried to keep levelheaded and regain his cool composure. He opened the door.

Musty old air filled his nostrils, but it wasn't unpleasant; beneath the age, he could still smell sweet lavender and strong muck, the smell of the room's deceased occupants. Curtains drawn, pale gray light flooded the room, making it seem a little less inviting than the bright afternoon sunlight he had felt the last time he'd been in here. The air was colder in the bedroom than downstairs, or even out in the hall, the closed door having blocked whatever heat flowed up the stairs.

A blonde haired girl in a pink dress was sitting on the large bed, just as she had most likely been for hours, her back to him and face to the windows.

Ed, eyes narrowing faintly, realized she had watched him leave. She had known where he was going, and she was watched him come back. She had been waiting.

He said nothing; the quiet creak of the door hinges had been his introduction. But she was silent, gave no sign she had even heard him, and he did not enter, his heart beating somewhat unsteadily in his chest and feeling caught between sadness and annoyance at her for ignoring him.

Was he scared? No, not really. Uneasy, however, was another matter entirely, and he felt it in his veins like adrenaline, hot and jumpy. This was just Winry, so why was he so panicky?

Because it wasn't just Winry, and he knew it. This wasn't just a quick chat, a verbal exchange that was abrupt and simple, short and without honesty, and she wasn't the same girl she had been a year ago; she had grown along with him, the only difference being that she still retained purity, and Edward saw this plainly; the way her eyes sparkled when a new tool was placed in her hands, her bashful smile when she was caught picking flowers, the bubbly laughter she always produced when truly happy, that honest, ringing sound that made him smile against his will. She wasn't simply his mechanic, or the girl next door: she was Winry and so much more.

And he would not, under any circumstances, screw this up with her.

Edward took a hesitant step inside the bedroom, then another, until he was standing somewhat awkwardly with his hands uselessly at his sides and staring expectantly at her back, feeling too large for his skin, itching and tense, trapped. Even though he didn't want to, he would begin the conversation if need be, and when she still remained silent, he knew it _would _be him starting off. So he left the next few moments empty, trying to decide how he should begin and flexing his flesh fingers out of habit, attempting to take even enough breaths to calm his still racing heart.

_This shouldn't be this hard_, Ed argued to himself, steadily growing more and more irritated at how he was unable to relax, to obtain an indifferent air, to gain enough control so that he would come off as unconcerned, just as he had been for most of his life with her. He kept her at arm's length, and often even farther than that, but that was simply to keep her safe.

Wasn't it?

Edward felt something jerk within him at the question that popped into his head, spoken in such a soft voice and asked with terrible sincerity, but before he had time to even lightly consider what had just occurred, Winry spoke.

"What took you?"

Ed blinked, then blinked again, taken aback. "Sorry?" he asked, beyond confused, his hands going slack.

She did not turn around, but even then, Edward could hear the almost smile in her words. "You've been back a while. How long were you standing out there?"

Slightly unnerved with how conscious she was of him but a bit glad of it as well, he felt a quick half smile lift one side of his mouth. "About four minutes," he answered honestly. "I, uh…I just didn't know how to, um…"

"Talk to me?"

He cursed silently at the way she had phrased it, like he thought her not worth his time, but kept himself from scowling. "Yeah."

"I see," she said softly, and he could detect no venom or malice in her voice, only faint regret, and, for reasons he could not yet comprehend, he felt something twist in his gut, almost like displeasure. "Could you close the door, please?"

Edward was not fond of the idea; one because then he really would be alone with her, and when that happened, there would be no quick escape, and two because of the way she had asked it, not demanding or with any real force, but leaving it up to him to decide whether to comply or not. Part of him, the part of him that was unable to help lashing out at her and losing his head when she got under his skin, wanted to keep the door wide open, just in case she decided to start throwing crap and he needed to run. But there was another part to him, one he wasn't quite as familiar with but had steadily developed over the course of the last year, that wanted, strangely enough, to do as she had asked, and that made him a bit more unnerved than it should have.

He turned back and closed the door, waiting until he heard the soft _click _so that Winry would know he had, in fact, shut it, before looking back at her, waiting.

It wasn't too long of a wait, for Winry stood a moment later and walked to the window, Ed watching as she placed her hand against the chilled glass. Reflected back at him was the dulled image of her face, pale skin and eyes that seemed, at the moment, far too large as they gazed out into the front yard, her lips neither a smile or a frown, the soft mist of her breath fogging the glass over.

And then Edward realized that maybe she was waiting too.

He had never been good with words; she knew this, as did everyone. He wasn't the best at handling situations like this, and he felt his palm begin to sweat, the other without sensation and forever frozen in its metallic state. Balling his hands into fists, Ed's eyes slipped shut against the image of her, and he swallowed past the lump that had somewhere along the way formed in his throat.

Edward drew in a steadying breath, eyes flashing open, and he took a few steps closer to her before stopping, keeping the distance between them still intact. "Listen," he began, trying to sound firm and almost succeeding. He softened his tone just slightly, staring down at the floorboards. "Winry, we—"

"You guys are leaving today, aren't you?" she said, more of a statement, still not looking at him, her voice soft and a little raw sounding.

Edward's hands relaxed from their fists and he looked up from the floor, able to feel his eyes widen as he was caught by surprise at her question; but it was only for only a second, and then his eyebrows and mouth turned down in a small frown. She had known from the beginning they would leave, but he hadn't actually told her when they would, and so he wasn't entirely sure what had tipped her off that their departure was, in fact, that day. But maybe she just knew him well enough to understand these things. This was Winry, and over the last few weeks, she had seemed almost like she was waiting for the moment of their leave-taking. Maybe it was because she was so in tune with Edward that she could feel his emotions and know when he was restless, as he was now. Of course she would know.

Still, that wasn't going to make telling her goodbye any easier.

His throat felt funny, like he couldn't get enough air and was choking on how much he inhaled all at the same time, and it hurt to swallow. Trying to keep his voice as even as possible and only just failing, he took a breath and answered, "Yes. Tonight."

They stood there in painful silence, Winry contemplating and Edward caught between sadness at leaving home and excitement at the thrill of being on the road, just him and Al. Neither spoke for a time, their minds whirring, although Ed quickly began to feel anxious and uncomfortable, a strange smothering feeling filling his chest as he stared nervously at her back.

Just as he was about to break the awkward silence with a lame excuse to leave, he heard Winry give a small, shallow sigh that was filled with something Edward could only identify as acceptance. She turned around to face him, and he felt his eyes go round as she looked at him and he looked back.

He had barely even seen her any this morning, so it came as somewhat of a shock to realize just how pale she really was at the moment, face wane and tired and, for the first time since he could remember, not giving away any signs of the way she felt. Her big blue eyes were tearless but were swimming, like they could mist over at any moment.

Winry's lips lifted to the right for a fraction of a second in an attempt at a smile. "Alright then," she said.

Ed felt his mouth drop open slightly, golden eyes large and pupils shrinking as he watched her give him another weak smile that did not light up her eyes in any way. Confusion and a strange grief pushed at his gut, making his voice come out a little strangled when he asked, "Huh?"

"I said alright." Winry walked away from the window slowly, until she was standing a few feet away from him, fingers laced together as she held her hands in front of her. She gave a half sigh, as if trying to decide how to choose her words. "There's nothing I can say to make you change your mind, to make you stay. And even then, I don't think I would."

"But why?" Edward asked, throwing his hands out at his sides for emphasis, not even able to care about the roughness of his voice; he was too consumed with that horrible constriction in his chest as he looked at her, heard her voice, that made him want to, strangely enough, reach out and feel her, touch her skin or hair, to remind himself she was real and, for this moment, he was still here.

A strange tone sunk into her voice, one Edward couldn't understand at first. "Because I want Al back too, and he's the most important thing to you. That's the way it should be."

Ed felt his lips part, watching her with a foreign appreciation. This wasn't the same Winry as before; it was still her, but at the same time, she was different. Winry, this Winry, was understanding and knew his every flaw yet liked him even then, maybe even more at the times when he was weakest or made mistakes. She was a comfort, and while he still didn't plan on telling her the darker secrets he kept deep inside his heart, maybe there would be something he _could _share with her one day.

There was nothing he could say to that, nothing that had any real meaning at least. So he blinked, clearing his throat and looking away. "Yeah," he muttered, and instantly regretted having said anything, the word dumbly ringing in his ears.

Winry seemed not to notice, or chose not to. Her expression remained a steady mask, but she was unable to hide all emotion from her eyes; Edward saw the slight hurt in them, the dullness that was threatened to be overcome by moisture at any given moment. And then his thoughts were pulled back to what she had just said and the tone she had spoken it in, the way she had seemed the smallest bit distant and upset, words uttered quickly.

And it hit him.

Edward had often heard people say figuratively that when you got an idea or realized something, a light bulb lit up above your head. If that had been an actual occurrence, he knew one would have just blinked aglow over him, because, to his utter shock, he realized that Winry had actually sounded a bit jealous, her words slightly clipped and the tiniest bit bitter.

He couldn't smile, not yet, even as that knowledge filled him with a strange delight that he didn't understand, one that normally would have made him angry. But he felt the smile in his eyes, sincere and almost joking, as he gave a half laugh that came out far too strangled. "You're not gonna miss us too much, are you?"

This was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Winry's eyes flared up and flashed with anger, and her eyebrows drew downward severely as she gave him a very pronounced frown. "That's _not _funny, Ed. Don't…don't joke about this."

And then his own control snapped, and he glared right back at her, scowl matching hers in anger. "Then what would you have me do, hmm?" he asked, tone biting. Who was she to get made at him? She'd known this was coming; she accepted it. So why was she being such a brat now? "You want me to pretend like leaving doesn't bother me? Well, I hate to disappoint you, _princess_," he sneered, "but I can't. I figured you'd rather have me be honest than lie anyway, that's what you always say."

"You don't have to be a jerk about it!" she snarled back wrathfully, using her height as an advantage to tower over him.

Unfortunately for her, Edward wasn't daunted in the least, and he pushed himself up closer to her, eyes dangerous in their glare, and he saw something in her own waver; her determination. "I wasn't being a jerk!" he hollered back. "I was asking you a question and trying not to make this any harder for you than it already is!"

"Well, it's not working!"

"I think I've figure that out."

He didn't even see her arms shoot up, and it shocked him enough so that he couldn't think of anything to say when she shoved viciously against his chest and managed to push him two steps back. "Good, so why don't leave already, alchemy freak? I don't even want you here!"

He stared at her for a moment, watching her hair fall in front of her face as she lowered her head, hands still pressed to his chest, her fingers gripping his shirt tightly. Her body was heaving for breath, as was his, and, slowly, he felt his frown begin to lessen, even as his eyebrows remained furrowed.

Edward felt a faint jerk over his heart, and when he looked down, his lips parted in a jagged breath as he saw Winry's petite hands trembling, hands that no longer looked like the strong ones that grafted his arm or took hold of his own hand as she led him from one place to the next. His hands lifted unconsciously so that it looked as if he were about to touch her shoulders. "Winry," came his choked whisper.

When she lifted her face, she was glaring at him with bright cerulean eyes filled with wetness, eyebrows quivering, biting at her bottom lip. Tears were evident as they filled her eyes, but they did not fall, and Edward realized with half pride, half heartache that she refused to let them. "What?" she asked cynically, more of a sob than a growl.

At the sight of Winry this miserable and afraid and refusing to cry in front of him, something blazing shot up his back and through his entire body, and his hands twitched, wanting to reach out and, strangely enough, squeeze her so hard she disappeared.

He couldn't move, too shocked was he, and he stared down into her eyes and she up into his, her entire body beginning to shake now, his hands several inches from her arms and her hands gripping his shirt so tightly her knuckled turned white.

"You don't mean that," he said softly, voice hitching. "You don't. Please tell me you're not serious."

The affect her words had on him was disturbing, and it occurred to him that if this had been a year ago, or even three months ago, they wouldn't have bothered him. Now, however, they made doubt flash in his mind and something swell up in his stomach that was almost fear.

She couldn't mean that, could she?

Winry gave a harsh, fragile laugh, glare alleviating just slightly. "Of course not," she replied wetly, honestly.

As he watched her, Ed saw one solitary, crystal tear streak her left cheek, blue eyes glittering with more that were ready to fall.

And for Edward, everything snapped into perspective, clear and obvious.

He was suddenly aware of each breath that entered his lungs and exited them, hands that ached in their longing, the thudding of his heart, the pounding of blood in his ears…

And then…something changed. Changed in him. Changed _him_.

It was subtle, barely even noticeable, a strangely delicate thing that made his heart skip a beat and his constricted chest tremble into a captivity he found himself not wanting to break free from, breath exiting his lungs in a soft exhalation. He felt…different. Not bad, but…altered, like he was no longer entirely himself, like there was something else inside of him that hadn't been there before, and he couldn't decipher what it was. He was only sure where it came from, what caused this change, and that was the girl in front of him; her eyes and voice and her smile, all so welcoming and, bizarrely enough, perfect, summing up Winry so well that it nearly hurt, this alien inside of his heart.

Winry.

And, to his amazement, he realized he didn't want to leave her.

Then next thing he knew, Edward had his head resting on her shoulder, hands on her biceps and gently pulling her to him, not quite conscious of what exactly he was doing and yet fully aware that it felt right.

A surprised squeak from Winry, and then silence. Her frame spasmed against his body, and he felt himself stroke his thumbs comfortingly along her arm, rubbing soothing circles along the bare skin.

Edward felt a breath sob against his neck, and then she had her arms wrapped firmly around his waist, holding onto him with a strength he had not known she possessed, her body shaking with tears. He could feel them soaking into his shirt, and he didn't care, too caught up in the way his own arms were now wrapped around her shoulders, automail hand pressed more gently to her back than his left, and the way he had impulsively hidden his face in her shoulder just moments after she had in his. E felt her bite down on a cry, her hands fisting in the back of his shirt, and a sputtering laugh made its way out of his mouth as he blinked his own eyes against their sudden wetness; this made it twice now that he had nearly cried today.

He would never have imagined Winry reducing him to tears, never even thought it possible. Not many people could; Alphonse, definitely, and his mother long ago, but Winry? It was sad to watch the big tears falling down her cheeks, and even painful, but it never hurt like this. Then again, he had never been this breakable around her, this open and unsure and tired, even while he was still trying to move forward. More than that, though, was the fact that he had never had Winry openly crying into his shoulder, her taller body feeling so utterly small and weak against his, and he found himself once again being the rock, comforting and sure. He'd been Alphonse's for years; now he would be Winry's, and he didn't dislike it.

"I'm sorry," he murmured hoarsely, flesh hand catching momentarily in her ponytail. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

He felt more than heard her strangled laugh, and she gripped him tighter. "You stupid ass," she returned thickly, and this time, he was truly able to laugh, though it was filled with the oncoming tears he was just barely managing to gain control over. "You don't need to apologize," she continued. "I should be."

"No. It's fine."

Winry sniffed, her head twisting against him as she attempted to look up, and Ed followed suit and looked down so that they were gazing at each other. Her face was smeared with saltwater, eyes swollen and gleaming as more tears made tracks down her cheeks, but she didn't release him to wipe her eyes. She looked tired now but somehow better, as if crying had helped her vent her troubles and fears.

An epiphany came to him then, the answer to the question asked minutes ago in his mind, one he hadn't been able to understand then. He had said he kept Winry at arm's length to protect her, but maybe it was the other way around; maybe he did it to protect himself. From what, he didn't know yet, but it couldn't be holding onto her, actually being truthful, giving her the comfort she wished for and receiving it himself in turn; it couldn't be this. And he realized that even if it was, he didn't want it to be. He wouldn't let it be.

Edward had no clue what his face looked like, but he could feel the weak smile slipping over his features, the stinging of his eyes, and he pulled lightly at her hair. "Honestly, Win," he began, stopping to clear his voice. "Don't you know how much I'm going to miss you?"

She blinked, more tears sliding out from the corners of her eyes. "You…you mean that?"

He tried not to roll his eyes and instead pushed his forehead to hers reassuringly. "Of course. I try not to lie _too _much, remember?"

Blue eyes were troubled. "But what…what if you and Al…"

He cocked an golden brow. "What? Don't get out bodies back?"

Winry's eyes slipped shut against his, and a trembling breath fanned out over his face, briefly knocking him senseless. "Don't come home," she whispered, voice catching.

Edward closed his own eyes, smile slowly tapering sadly, and he sighed_. So _that's_ what has her worried_, he thought warmly, forlornly, releasing her hair and placing both hands soothingly to her thin back, able to feel her shoulder blades. He opened his eyes. "Do you trust me?"

Her eyes shot open wide, bewildered and wet, and she pulled back slightly. "What?"

He brushed his left hand up her spine, briefly cupping her neck, then traveling to the back of her head. "Do you trust me?" he repeated gently, not quite smiling.

Winry looked at him fixedly, gaze certain and sincere. "You know I do."

"Then tell me you do."

She sighed and took a deep breath, then watched him with big, beautiful blue eyes, eyes that, for some reason, he found extremely fascinating at the moment. She nodded, giving him a watery smile. "I trust you."

The feel of her head against his palm, her chest against his, her arms steady in their hold, it was all enough for Edward to find himself flushing, to feel a goofy smile working its way onto his face. But it was her eyes and the surety in her voice that made him feel like he was floating.

He grinned at her, hand sliding quickly through her hair, ruffling it. "Then believe me when I say we _will _come home. Both of us," he elaborated, filled with a determination he hadn't felt before, one he had a very good idea came from Winry. He _would _come back with Al, limbs restored or not. He felt his face grow hot again, and he tried to calm the blush covering his cheeks as he asked roughly, "Why wouldn't we when we have you waiting for us?"

Edward watched her blink and found himself waiting nervously, trying not to frown at how he couldn't stop blushing. But then she finally smiled at him, eyes gentle and affectionate, tears still spilling from them. "You'd better," she said as she lifted one of her hands and gently butted her palm to Ed's head, no threat whatsoever in her voice. "Or I might just have to hit you."

He laughed, removing his hand from her head and gently resting it over the one that rested against his forehead. "I don't doubt that."

Winry smiled softly back, giving a small chuckle. Something, however, glazed her eyes over, and before Edward could ask what was wrong, she had quickly pulled herself back to his chest, receiving a startled, flustered yelp from Edward.

"H-hey! Winry, what…?" He trailed off, able to sense a faint shudder throughout her frame.

"I'm going to miss you," she admitted softly, keeping her face hidden.

Ed blinked, then smiled, surprised and slightly pleased and a little sad and the smallest bit exasperated with her. But more than anything, he couldn't get over the amazingly bright, fervently hot feeling in his chest, like he'd just won a prize far greater than the Philosopher's Stone, if that was even possible. _God, she's incredible. _

He pulled his arms back around her and shoved his face in her shoulder, smiling against her somewhat sorrowfully. "I know. I'm going to miss you too."

"How long…how long do you think you'll be gone?" she asked tentatively.

Edward sighed, closing his eyes. "I don't know." He felt her shoulders droop slightly, and he intensified his hold on her, lifting his head to look at her. "Don't be sad. Please?" he asked somewhat worriedly.

She sniffled into his shirt. "How can you expect me not to be?"

She was right, of course. Still, he couldn't let it go. "Then don't think about it time wise," he told her softly, fingers playing with the tips of her hair.

He watched as she hesitantly looked at him, eyes filled with tears once again. "What do you mean?"

Edward didn't smile, instead watching at her with intense eyes, serious and heartfelt. "It's not gonna be forever. It's just for now. We can go off for a while, but we'll always come home." Instead of looking away like he wanted to, he forced his eyes to stay locked with hers, ignoring the hotness of his cheeks and the way his voice tried to catch. "_I'll _always come home."

He watched her eyes widen, saw a tears slip down each cheek, and then she was smiling brilliantly up at him, eyes honest in their sparkle. She straightened up so that she was once again having to gaze down at him, but he didn't mind, not when she was looking at him like that, with eyes bluer than any ocean he'd ever seen and smile pretty enough to make angels cry.

"For now?" she asked quietly, leaning forward to press her forehead to his, arms holding onto him tightly, hands pressed flat to his back.

He chuckled, deep in his chest, as he looked back at her. Even now, cheeks streaked with tear tracks and eyes puffy, her hair disheveled, Edward knew he'd never seen her look more dazzling. "For now," he agreed.

* * *

><p>Later, when daylight had long ago vanished and the blackness of night was upon the earth, four people stood before a burning house, red hot flames licking and swirling in the wind. October 3, 1911; the date that Edward Elric had carved inside his Sate Alchemist pocket watch just hours before, the day him and his brother were burning their home to the ground and leaving everything behind. He watched as flame licked at the windowpanes, charred through support beams and devoured everything within reach, heat blasting against his face. Not looking at his hand, he gripped the torch tightly, then lifted it and tossed it into the inferno.<p>

"Well, there's no going back for us now, brother," he said softly to Alphonse at his right, keeping his eyes locked on the burning structure.

"Yeah," Alphonse replied without hesitation, voice confident and filled with sorrow and determination.

At that moment, Edward felt pride surge through him at his little brother's strength, but he said nothing; he knew Alphonse was already aware of how he felt.

As he watched the house that had long ago been his home crack and sizzle in the orange flames, a deep sadness filled him, one that would always be present. Edward realized what he was giving up, and he knew they couldn't turn back; but that did little to soothe the ache in his chest as he saw the glass of a window pop outward.

To Al's right, Pinako was silent as she watched blaze, and Ed had no idea what she was thinking; but he was glad she had come, even though he and Alphonse had originally planned on doing this alone.

Winry had changed that. After the soft moment shared between her and Ed in her parents' room and when Edward and Alphonse were together, they had explained to her what they were going to do. She, before they had barely even finished, had immediately told them she was coming as well.

"Winry, that's alright," Alphonse had argued gently. "You shouldn't have to see that."

"Al's right," Edward had said, looking at her with kind but firm eyes.

But it had done little to dissuade her, and she had looked imploringly at him rather than his younger brother. "Please? If you don't want me there, that's fine. I can understand why you wouldn't. But if you'll let me come, I want to. I…I want to be there for you two."

Ed's resolve had held out for about six seconds. But then he had sighed, rolling his eyes upward. "Fine," he'd relented, trying to sound mad but unable to, secretly glad she would be there to support him.

Now, he found himself looking to his left, turning to see how Winry was fairing.

Unsurprisingly, large tears were rolling down her face as she looked steadily at the scene before them, her hands shaking fists, tears dripping off of her chin.

Edward couldn't help it; he felt a tired, genuine smile pull at his lips, and laughed softly.

Winry looked up and, realizing she had been caught, promptly rubbed an arm over her eyes, trying to wipe away her tears.

He felt his smile grow tender. "What are you crying for, Winry?"

She hiccupped quietly, trying not to let Al or her grandmother discover that she had broken down, Den sitting faithfully at her feet and watching her with concerned brown eyes. "B-because," she replied quietly, not choosing to complete the thought.

It wasn't needed. Edward understood, and his smile fled him slowly.

She was trying, attempting to be strong and handle this as best she could, and Edward felt his eyes soften with respect for her. Winry would miss them, maybe him more than his brother, he realized.

And he would miss her. Terribly.

His heart hurt at seeing her like this, at knowing he probably wouldn't even get to see her at all for a long while. But instead of letting that sadness overcome him, he gave a thick, low chuckle and placed his hand on the top of her head.

Lowering her arm, she looked at him tearfully, bottom lip quivering. He felt himself smile crookedly.

"Don't forget," he said affectionately. "This isn't forever: it's just for now. Right?"

Through her tears, Winry smiled, placing her fingers to the back of his hand. "Right," she acquiesced, nodding.

A warmth flooded him that had nothing to do with the fire, but he said nothing else, instead lowering his hand and looking back to the flames. But he didn't miss the small fingers when they twined through his, and he gladly accepted them and locked his own around hers, gripping her hand with just as much strength as she did his, flesh on flesh.

This wasn't goodbye, not really. He would be back.

And she would be waiting.

Today, after all, was just the beginning.

* * *

><p><strong>What's your little wonder?<br>**


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